The Pony Race Pt. 02

Chapter 11: Absence

*

In fact I was away for nearly three weeks but I spent it on a high.

Bryony sexted, pictures herself in the harness and then one of her wearing her tail. It was the same colour as her hair. 'i thought it was time you saw this' her text read alongside a lovely rear view, clearly taken in the kitchen with the tail hanging down between her firm thighs. The whipmarks I'd inflicted were fading. As well as the harness, she was wearing her boots though they weren't laced up because the new weighted ankle cuffs that went with the harness were quite bulky. There were wrist cuffs too; each a little over four pounds.

The next one was even better; she was down on all fours pulling the tail aside and showing me her lovely tight buttocks and the red lips of her pussy.

I couldn't wait to get back.

The texts stopped four days before my planned return which had then been delayed by nearly a week because I'd had a call from a mate of mine who coaches the hurdles team and really wanted some help for the upcoming games. I guessed Bryony might have been upset but it was an opportunity I couldn't pass up. I wasn't concerned and I certainly wasn't going to appear needy; she was clearly fine.

She wasn't.

The girl who met me at Plymouth station had short cropped hair and dark rings under her eyes; she was wearing a torn off white T-shirt and old tracksuit bottoms over her harness. She was thinner, the muscles in her arms clearly defined especially as she moved them with the added weight of the cuffs.

I could see she was wearing her nipple bridle too.

She was again attracting attention but in a completely different way.

I tried to hug her but she pulled away.

'I don't fucking believe it!' she said as she lead me to the car.

'What?' My heart sank. I realised I'd been a complete idiot. How could I have stood her up?

She showed me a letter lying on the front seat. It was addressed to her.

'This bit,' she said pointing at a paragraph she'd circled.

'... the committee believes this lewd act was demeaning to the Mares' Race and as a consequence for your act...'

She snatched it away clearly still distressed.

'What did you do?' I was relieved it wasn't my delayed return that upset her but I wondered what a contestant in a pony girl race could do to be reprimanded for lewd behaviour.

'That day we walked back from Cassie and Tom's... I was wearing my harness.'

'So?'

'It's not allowed.' Tears sprang to her eyes. 'The race is... sensitive. We're not supposed to go advertising it or we'd have the whole world turning up to watch kinky pony girls racing.'

That explained it to a degree.

'We're supposed to be discrete,' she continued. 'I know it's hard to believe... The tracks in the woods are fine but not in the village.'

'But, what... who...? Fawn?'

'No, not Fawn. She wouldn't use that sort of tactic.' Bryony paused. 'It was that bitch Brazen; those two girls who jogged past us. Remember? The one with the dyed hair.'

'But what's happened?'

Surely she hadn't been disqualified.

'I've been put at the back of the grid,' she said as we pulled angrily out of the car park with a screech of tyres that sprayed a cloud of dust and gravel in our wake.

It took me a while to find out that starting positions were assigned randomly unless there was some sort of penalty applied. We'd likely be starting in the third row, quite possibly two rows behind Fawn and with our progress obstructed by other competitors.

'And where the bloody hell were you when I needed you?' She shot me a look as we slewed off a roundabout onto the A38 and accelerated with a scream of engine noise.

*

It wasn't the most comfortable of journeys but at least we didn't crash or hit anyone.

I didn't say much, deeming it prudent to wait until we made it back to her farm where I could talk to her without the risk that distracting her would leave us both in a far worse state.

Finally, we skidded to a halt in her yard.

'I'm really sorry, I didn't come back when I planned,' I told her. I could feel tears behind my eyes. I knew I'd really failed her.

She looked at me red eyed.

'It wasn't your fault I was careless,' she said surprisingly tenderly.

Her face was pale. Her eyes red.

'Look you recon you can beat anyone except Fawn,' I told her. 'If she's at the back too then at least your level the rest of the field don't matter.'

'And if she's at the front?'

'Then you'll just have to put in a personal best.' I gave her my best 'coach voice'. 'You can do this.'

She sighed heavily but I thought I saw the flicker of a smile.

'Besides, you've got me back now.'

It probably wasn't the most tactful thing to say.

'I hope you haven't put on any weight,' she said rather forcefully.

'I've managed to lose six pounds and if I sweat beforehand I might get it down a couple more.'

She did smile at that.

'We'll do this!' I told her.

*

She'd promised me a fuck on my return but she walked straight towards the stables.

'We have three more weeks to train.' I called after her.

'I want to train now!' She shot back.

'It looks to me like you've been overdoing it.'

She admitted to double training and, as a consequence not following her diet.

'I'd say somebody needs a good spanking,' I said trying to lighten the mood.

She looked at me a little sadly and pulled down the jogging pants she was wearing.

'Is that...'

'My chastity belt.' She looked serious. 'Yes.'

Despite its significance, it was a thing of beauty; clearly designed for moving around in, overlapping steel plates and rubber padding; it was tight between her buttocks, rubber covered steel wire.

'Where is the key?'

'Cassie has it, like always,' she said in a slightly embarrassed voice.

'And will she give it to you?' I refrained from commenting again on the ongoing intimacy of their relationship.

'Probably not.' She clearly saw my distress and I thought her whole demeanour softened. 'Poor baby,' she said taking a step towards me and sliding her arms round my neck.

My cock gave its usual response.

'It's only three weeks,' I said with a sigh.

'Should have come back a week ago,' she said sharply.

I think I'd have preferred it if she'd kneed me in the balls to get her own back.

'Consider me fully chastened,' I told her, 'but if we're going to do this we do have to work together.'

'I know.' She kissed me on the lips pressing herself against me; I could feel the nipple bridle and the hardness of the steel belt.

'If you'd been here a few days ago, you'd have seen my lovely smoothly shaved pussy too. She rubbed her crotch against mine. 'Sooo smooth!'

'You have missed me a little then,' I ventured.

'No. I'm just reminding you what you've missed out on.' She still had her arms around my neck. 'Well, maybe I missed you a little.' Her right hand slid down to my crotch, worming its way into the top of my jeans. 'I am glad you're back and I did promise you a little present when you got back.'

'Oh?'

'Let's go to the bedroom,' she said with a smile that reminded me why I loved her so much despite our short acquaintance. 'But only for half an hour,' she warned me. 'Then we train.'

'Half and hour. Then we eat,' I admonished. 'After that we think about training.'

She glared at me, blue eyes defiant for a moment, then she yielded.

'Yes, Sir.' She peeled off her T shirt to reveal her body displayed in the harness with the rings around her breasts and the bridle on her nipples; she was much thinner, any trace of fat gone; she'd clearly been training harder than she should have for more than the last ten days or so; I might even be tempted to say that her breasts had shrunk. Combined with the short hair and the slightly haunted look in her eyes she gave the impression of a wild woman captured but by no means tamed.

As she lead me inside, I couldn't help thinking it was going to be an interesting three weeks.

*

'At least that can come off,' I said reaching for the steel bar imprisoning her nipples.

'Those are off limits too,' she said sternly.

'That's not going to be much fun.'

'It's not supposed to be fun,' she shot back. 'We're training. Now, do you want a final blow job or not?'

'How could I refuse such a gracious offer?' If she was still mad at me this was a funny way to show it.

She slid fully out of her sweat pants. 'You can tie me up if you won't to.'

'Final?'

She didn't answer, just went down beautifully with a smirk on her face that reassured but told me she had something planned. I didn't tie her up, she was harnessed and locked in chastity my captive Amazon warrior.

The urgency wasn't there and there was less emotion than before but the way she pleasured me on her knees was as meticulous as I remembered, her tongue working along my shaft, hot and moist, lips caressing, rubbing her cheek against me as she licked my balls.

I didn't last the full thirty minutes but she must have worked me for at least twenty until I was drooling freely and my fluids were smeared all over her cheeks; then she smiled up at me and took me in as deep as she could almost gagging as her chin pushed against my balls then, finally, she brought her hands up holding my thighs and ran her lips back and forth along my shaft until I exploded into her mouth.

I watched her grin as she swallowed.

'I trust Sir was satisfied,' she said licking her lips as I swayed on my feet.

'Very much worth the wait.' I found I was out of breath.

'Good,' she looked at me cooly. 'It will be something to remember.'

I froze for a moment, suspicious and anxious. 'What have you got planned?' I guess I can be insecure at times.

'A final surprise to make sure you don't go running off again.' She crawled to the wardrobe giving me another reminder of her imprisoned sex and pulled open the door taking out a package which she tossed onto the bed. It looked as if it might be quite heavy and I thought I heard a metallic clunk.

The box was about a foot long and six inches wide and deep. She'd gift wrapped it in tissue paper.

'A gift?' I said.

'Go ahead,' she said mischievously. 'Open it.'

Carefully I tore off the paper and then opened the box.

Inside was more tissue paper and I pulled it open.

Whatever it was, it was shiny, metal plates and a series of rings about an inch across.

I suddenly realised what it was.

'I don't need this.' I said dropping it hurriedly.

'Really?' she challenged.

'I'm not racing.'

'I thought it was something we could do together,' she said with a slight smirk that turned into a pout.

Part of me said I should show her who was boss so I did.

'Ok,' I told her. 'If it's what you want.'

Like I said, I can be insecure but there's something about making these sort of little pacts with those you are training, showing you share their commitment; however, it's usually not drinking or getting up extra early.

'Thank you,' she said with genuine glee. Then she jumped to her feet, her smile broadening as she kissed me. It wasn't the most romantic of kisses, I could smell the cum on her breath and feel its stickiness on my cheek.

I guess that's when you know you really love someone.

*

Chapter 12: Desires

*

On reflection, the kiss, despite its sticky subtleties was probably a mistake. I'd just had one of Bryony's extremely thorough blow jobs and, even if she didn't look her best at this moment in time, she was a red hot lingerie model wearing a pony girl harness and cuffs.

She tried several times to get me in to the chastity device but every time she touched me, it had exactly the wrong effect. In the end she had to fetch a bowl of ice cold water which certainly did the trick and, with my cock threaded through six gates of hell and a little cage around my balls, my gorgeous girlfriend went to make me lunch.

I swear she put on the skimpiest dress she owned, the little pink cotton number that she'd worn on our drive to Bristol and had probably owned since she was about thirteen; the stretched, baggy neckline giving me a perfect view of her little breasts and the steel prison confining her nipples; the hem was so high the chastity belt came into view every time she lifted her arms or bent over reminding me of the lovely smooth pussy locked beneath.

*

I made sure she ate and then we talked tactics for an hour despite her obvious desire to be back in harness so to speak; it was thus mid afternoon by the time I took her along the track. After nearly three weeks in the weighted cuffs and harness and the intense training she had undertaken, I could see a clear improvement in her performance even if her legs did look a little skinny.

I made sure I put her through her paces, walk, trot, canter and gallop.

Strangely, my chastity belt made me feel more in control. 'Something we could do together' she had said. She wanted me in her life and, combined with the send off she'd given me before my departure, it meant I had no qualms using the whip.

I think the fact that she'd put me in chastity made me a little ruthless too.

By the time we returned to the yard for the final time she was clearly exhausted but I could see from the smile on her face that she had loved every moment of it and that the whip marks that now liberally covered the top of her thighs and her buttocks had added to the pleasure of her workout.

*

After she'd stretched and showered I introduced her to my latest acquisitions. If she was happy to lock me in chastity, I was more than happy to introduce her to her to her latest harness; eight pounds heavier and the cuffs, each a couple of pounds more than the previous ones.

'Thank you, Sir,' she pouted as I locked them on her body.

I smiled slightly thinly. 'Perhaps we could swap keys,' I suggested.

'Not gonna happen, Big Boy,' she said squeezing my packaged package and causing another bout of constricted discomfort.

I wondered briefly if the key might be hidden somewhere in the house. It wouldn't be hard to leave her chained up in the bedroom while I searched.

It was a passing thought and beneath the dignity of a professional like myself, however tempting it might seem.

I let her rest while I cooked her tea; nothing fancy or particularly tasty, just protein and carbs. I was as chaste as she was and I needed to do something to take my mind off it, even if she did keep wandering into the kitchen wearing nothing but her harness and chastity belt; to add to my frustration, she kept her nipple bridle on too!

Perhaps she wanted to make sure I knew it was all off limits.

I did put candles on the table and that made her smile. Then we went for a gentle walk to pass the time before bed.

*

Even though we couldn't get up to much, I'd been looking forward to taking her to bed even if it was just for a cuddle but when I told her we should go up she sprung another surprise.

'I've been sleeping in the stable,' she told me. 'Chained.'

I wished my other athletes were as diligent as this.

She disappeared for a moment then came back into the sitting room carrying the chain set I'd used on her before.

'Would you mind, Sir.' She dropped the chains on the sofa beside me and held her hands in front of her. 'Chain me.'

What else could I do? I locked the chain to the collar of her new weighted harness running it down the front of her body and then padlocked her wrists and ankles to it. Then, with her tripping along behind me, I took her out to the stable. There was a thin straw mattress laid out on the concrete floor and a woollen blanket and another chain, new and shiny, padlocked to a ring in the wall and I wondered if she'd been chaining herself to this too but she didn't mention it so I kissed her goodnight and went to bed.

Tempted though I was, I didn't search for the key.

*

It was about 2am when she came in. I heard the stairs creak and then the click of chain as she tottered along the landing and then saw her standing pale and chained in the moonlight, framed in the doorway to the bedroom; it's just as well I don't believe in ghosts though if any of them are pert little redheads in chains I'd be happy to meet one, especially if she had the power to undo locks.

She snuggled herself against me, reassuringly warm, and I held her; there wasn't much else much I could do though my cock tried very hard, pressing itself against the steel wires between her buttocks. The nipple bridle made sure there was little I could by way of toying with a perky nipple.

'If you tell me to, I will go to Cassie's and get the keys.' She said.

At least I knew where mine was now.

'No.' I said; a man has to be firm.

So I lay there for a while and stroked her body; it was a pleasure of sorts; her body felt wonderful, muscles firm and defined under a thin layer that seemed little more than skin; she really was a superb athlete; I should know, I've bedded a few - always, well mostly, after training them. There have been quite a few who have been very grateful and willing to show it; they've mostly been amateurs especially the high level ones, they don't earn anything apart from recognition so they don't have that much to offer. I could be callous and say the really keen ones don't have much in the way of friends either. Taking it the other way around, it might be fair to say they offer what they can. There's often a relationship built up too, reaching an intensity that after the event is going to be lost; a night of rampant sex is a way of diffusing that energy; and then there's the hormones: these are young virile women in the prime of life subject to the same urges as the rest of us and probably only satisfying them with cold showers and long runs.

It might be unprofessional but there you are with a woman you've spent several months with in an intense relationship who's probably not had sex for most, if not all, of that period throwing herself at you with a desperation born of absolute necessity. You could almost consider it therapy, part of the service...

I've had a few of my male athletes offer the same but I've always turned them down though, I do remember being tempted by one of them.

*

The next morning's breakfast was a bland as supper the night before and then we trained, sprints, weights, circuits before another lovely protein-carb mix and an afternoon with the chariot to which I added a few pounds taking it at least to the weight it was with me in the first time I drove it, probably about a stone more (I'd lost more than a few pounds). I wanted her to feel the difference when we used Tom's new racing one.

'May I come to be with you again, Sir.' She asked as she knelt in the sitting room while I locked her in chains for the night.

I looked at her kneeling and utterly submissive. Throughout the day she'd done everything I told her, putting her all into the training, swallowing the protein shakes with no more than a grimace and clearing every scrap from her plate.

'No,' I told her levelly. 'Mares should be in the stable.'

Her eyes widened a fraction and then she bowed her head. 'Yes, Sir.'

It was one of the most beautifully submissive demonstrations I've ever seen and it almost broke my heart to leave her like that but after chaining her wrists and ankles I took her to the stable and padlocked the chain fastened to the wall to her collar to tether her. I made sure her hands behind her back too to keep her out of mischief.

Then I went to bed.

*

Sleep didn't come easily. It's often the case at this stage in a training regimen, the intensity driving me on and lying there thinking about the hot redhead I'd just chained in the stable did nothing to calm me. So, I lay there thinking about her and at about 2am when I got up to 'check on her'.

As I came out of the kitchen door I thought I heard her cry out; the noise came again and I rushed forward suddenly concerned for her.

How could I have left this woman I was supposed to be looking after chained up outside like an animal?

I sprinted across the yard and looked over the stable door to see what was happening. She was lying on the bare floor her front with her back arched, her body tense; rocking on her hips; her nipple bridle clicking on the concrete, her arms were twisted round her body and her hands under her hip, fingers clearly working their way under the chastity belt. She was so engrossed in what she was doing she didn't even notice I was there to see it and, as I watched, she writhed before me in her chains moaning in frustration.

'What are you doing?' I asked though I could see full well she was trying to masturbate.

Startled, she flipped round in a manoeuvre that I'd have thought almost impossible for a helpless chained girl.

'Sir?' Her face was flushed and even as she stared up at me wide eyed, it turned crimson, the blush spreading to her chest and down her body.

Redheads do seem to blush at the drop of a hat and Bryony is certainly a prime example; I might have thought this was a problem for a fetish model but apparently it's a good thing because it makes her look aroused in interested; though she tells me it's not that hard looking aroused and interested when she's doing a fetish shoot, especially when there is bondage involved.

This blush was, on a scale from one-to-ten, a full ten from the roots of her shaved hair to the tips of her toes.

*

It was easy to pin her down, she's smaller than me and she was in chains; she could have struggled more but she knew she'd been a naughty girl. With my knee across the back of her thighs and my hand in the small of her back I spanked her until her bottom glowed in much the same way as her body had when I'd caught her.

When I stopped she was panting and my hand was starting to feel sore.

'Thank you, Sir.' The way she said it told me she was even more horny now and so was I. My cock strained against its prison.

I rolled her over and took the key to her chains from around my neck. She made no resistance as I undid the padlock between her wrist cuffs and pulled them much further up her back leaving her with her elbows out like Cassie in her field harness. Then, I pulled up her ankles and locked them near her smarting buttocks so that she was hogtied. There was going to be no touching herself for the rest of the night.

I saw her strain against the cuffs and chain but her strength was no match for the leather and steel. I doubted she'd get much stimulation from squirming her sex against the floor with the chastity belt.

'Thank you, Sir.' She lay panting and frustrated.

'See you in the morning,' I said leaving the stable.

'Please, Sir!' She looked up at me urgently and did that lip thing. 'Sticky's very sorry.'

'And Sticky is going to be punished,' I told her.

'Yes, Sir.' She squirmed her way back onto the thin mattress laid her head down.

I stood watching, it was a beautiful site to behold.

After a few minutes she looked up.

'You can be a real bastard sometimes.' She squirmed trying to get herself comfortable.

'I do my best,' I said with a smile, 'and don't forget you're supposed to call me 'Sir'.'

'Fuck off.' She pulled futily on her bonds again. 'Sir.'

'I think it will be the single sleeve tomorrow night,' I chided. 'Bedroom tight!'

*

Chapter 13: The Training Intensifies

*

After that I did keep a very tight rein on her, literally. She spent most of the next three weeks in almost constant bondage. I even chained her between training sessions during the day if I left her alone and sometimes even if I didn't. The sight of her harnessed and chained and utterly submissive was beautiful despite the frustrations it brought.

I kept her in the stable too bringing her food out and feeding her as she knelt beside me naked and chained or, more commonly leaning back in my arms. I enjoyed this and I know she did too; there was no rush over the meal, it wasn't as if we could go to the pub and she was too exhausted for a walk so we sat together talking.

I think it was, bizarrely, the first time we had not focussed on the race or sex.

I learned about her growing up the village and how, like other little girls of her age, she wanted to own a pony; in her case, Cassie. She told me about their relationship too, how Cassie had realised she wasn't quite as bisexual as Bryony and gone of with Tom. We talked about other stuff too, politics, art, travel; the sort of things usual relationships are built on. Not unsurprisingly, we shared a love for the pre-Raphaelites and romantic poets.

I didn't actually follow through with my threat of the single sleeve. I did plan to bring the shiny red one down from the bedroom but she asked if I could commute her sentence and suggested an old dressage harness that she had hidden away up in the bedroom. It had shoulder straps and sleeves ending in mitts that tapered to points and made her hands useless; like Cassie's field harness, the mitts had rings sewn into their tips to anchor them in place. I did fear that she might struggle to spend the night in too extreme a restraint; she had certainly been stiff the morning after I'd left her in the hogtie even though I'd freed her at six and she'd only spent a little under four hours in it. However, she told me to wrap her arms round her chest and anchor the mitts to the weighted harness; it reminded me of Jim Weather's bolero straight jacket; it was fairly comfortable (so she assured me); it also meant I could stroke her breasts freely and, when I removed the nipple bridle to check on her lovely little buds I could even play with them. This latter activity was one of our few luxuries though it came at the price of knowing that things couldn't escalate and did leave me severely frustrated on more than one occasion. I'm sure it was worse for her.

*

It wasn't all erudite conversations, chaste touching and physical training; we had to plan too.

'Talk me through the race,' I told her on the third evening.

She was still in her racing harness, kneeling, her arms strapped behind her in the racing single sleeve. We'd put in an extra dressage type session in the yard to sharpen up my driving skills and she had a new collection of red welts on her buttocks and thighs. As was becoming our normal practice in these sessions, I'd been driving her blindfold to ensure I was guiding her correctly and, as a result, she was very focussed, excited. I'd removed her bridle but left the rubber blindfold in place. If it hadn't been for our chastity belts, I would have been looking forward to some great sex.

'Yes, Sir.' She knelt on the stable floor, back straight, head up. 'At the start, we'll need to get clear of the pack but I'll need keeping in check. It's a slight climb up the field and most of the girls will struggle. I want to get to the gate at the front...'

Thwack. I bought the whip down on her breasts.

'No,' she corrected, 'near the front of the pack.'

'Better. I don't want you overdoing it.'

'Yes, Sir. We must keep right, to the inside of Fawn if we can, it's slightly downhill as we exit...'

'Good girl...'

*

She talked her way through the race and then I made her do it again.

After that, I put her through the exercise every night, standing over her with the whip though, after a few days, I didn't have to use it often. She didn't seem to resent being treated this way and, in fact, whenever I came into the stable in the evening, if she wasn't already kneeling, she would immediately scramble to her knees, straightening her back and bowing her head. She always addressed me as 'Sir' and thanked me for everything I did for her, be it feeding her or whipping her breasts.

*

Other than our daily training runs and sessions between the traces we only went out once. Bryony was desperate to watch Cassie doing her final training session as we were likely to miss the field events because of our preparations on the morning.

Bryony was careful to cover up as we walked up to the village though she did wear her weighted harness under her dress and her wrist and ankle weights which were locked on her at any time she wasn't actually pulling the chariot. It didn't seem at all strange to see the outline of the harness and even the nipple bridle through the dress now and we had both grown used to the leather wrist and ankle cuffs.

I laughed when she asked if she could wear a pair of heels to complete her slightly odd look.

'If we're going out, I want to look my best, Sir,' she said with a smile.

The heels were about four inches, strappy sandals and they did go with the dress though perhaps not the rest of her ensemble. They also showed off her toenails, most of which were black despite the relative comfort of her pony boots.

I wondered what Jim or Terry would say if she turned up for a photoshoot now. She looked better than when I'd returned from Gloucester but her face was still thin and her eyes a little dark and sunken; combined with the short hair she gave the impression of someone being liberated from a prison camp.

I was just thinking this when she asked me to leash her; I was surprised but I didn't refuse.

'You can cuff my wrists too.'

'Really?' I asked. 'Won't it bring the contest into disrepute?'

'It will be fine at this stage. The harness was a bit too blatant. This is fine and I... I really like being treated this way,' she told me in low whisper, dropping her head in another beautifully submissive gesture. 'Please don't stop.'

'Even the chastity?' I teased as I cuffed her wrists.

'Apart from the chastity.' She blushed, smiling for a moment. 'You wouldn't believe how horny I am.'

I pulled her close using the leash and kissed her on the cheek.

'You can be harsher with me if you want to,' she whispered. 'I wouldn't mind.'

Short of fully fledged torture or starving her, it was difficult to think how I could be harsher; I kept her in almost constant bondage, forced her to do hard manual labour under the threat of the whip, punished her when she did anything wrong and fed her the equivalent of gruel. There were probably political prisoners who had easier routines.

'Perhaps I'll think of an extra punishment for you tonight.' I told her with a smile.

*

It was a fine evening and we weren't the only couple out on the green. There was a knot of people around a wooden shelter that looked a little like a bus stop on one side of the green though I wasn't aware that Mars-de-Launce had a bus service.

'The grid!' Bryony said suddenly running forward and dragging me behind like the owner of some excited puppy.

There were over a dozen there; mostly couples including Tom and Cassie; the latter clearly ready for action in her harness in flagrant disregard to any rules although, in Cassie's case, the important bits were pretty well covered even if her nipples were poking through the leather cones of her bra, they were partly hidden by the bells clipped to them; and her sex was covered by the crotch strap. She was already bridled, Tom holding her reins as they studied board in front of them.

She was wearing her tail too.

She wasn't the only one in 'full dress'. Tom was wearing a riding jacket, breeches and boots. The other men there wore the some sort of outfit. A couple of the female 'knights' were similarly dressed. I felt decidedly shabby in my jeans and T-shirt.

There were three lists, one quite short that I noticed had the names 'Barbie' and 'Rubber Dolly' at the bottom. The middle list was the longest and I could see 'Sticky Fingers' at the bottom; next up was Joy Toy and then, above that 'Fawn'.

I heard Bryony squeal with delight.

'Bryony!' Cassie managed through her bit. 'Gucg! You rearry are going vor id thish year.'

Others turned at this remark; men and women. All the women who weren't dressed as knights were wearing harnesses of some kind though, unlike Cassie, they had all covered them with dresses or at least T-shirts. There were tails too, lots of swishing tales some rather blatantly visible beneath T-shirts while others trailed discretely below the hems of dresses.

Only one other woman was cuffed. Fawn: tall and blonde, leashed too and bridled, her wrists locked together by quite a long chain in front of her body. Seeing her beside Bryony and most of the other girls emphasised the blonde's height and her athleticism; it was hard to imagine how Bryony could keep up with this long limbed athlete.

'Both at the back of the grid.' The girl who spoke was Claire; the brunette in the wheelchair. 'This could be interesting.' She was holding Fawn's reins. You might even make Fawn break a sweat.'

'I'm looking forward to it, Posh.' Bryony glared down at the slightly buxom brunette as Fawn turned, towering above her driver and Bryony; framed by the bridle her face appeared stern, lips drawn back around the bit, the gaze of her blue eyes was steady. I could see the straps of her harness sticking out from the thin white cotton vest she wore and the outline beneath the material; like Bryony she wore a nipple bridle; she also wore a tiny white thong to protect her modesty. She was wearing pony boots too and a tail that matched her hair.

'It's not Posh Totty anymore.' Claire looked up at Bryony. 'I'm not a mare so I think you mean 'Miss Jones' or 'M'Lady'. Mares should be respectful; unless you want another penalty.'

'I'm gonna beat you... M'Lady!' Bryony said with an intensity that was almost ferocious.

I realised it was time to intervene; Bryony might be cuffed but I could see this getting out of hand.

'Come on, Sticks!' I said firmly. 'Let's go and watch Cassie train.'

I pulled on her leash for emphasis and fortunately she turned to follow me as we walked slowly over to the forge alongside Tom and Cassie accompanied by the gentle tinkle of Cassie's nipple bells. I could sense Bryony shaking.

'We're going to beat them,' I said firmly.

'I know,' she snapped back, 'and I can't wait until Saturday.'

*

The yard was set out like some sort of children's assault course with coned areas, some with tape between them; there was a raised section too and a pair of planks over a log.

We watched as Tom closed Cassie's blinders and then installed her between the shafts. By the time he'd finished Bryony seemed to have calmed down.

All seemed relaxed until the gate to the yard suddenly opened and everyone looked round; even Cassie's head turned sharply at the sound.

It was Barbie along with 'Lord Twat'. I'd never actually asked his name.

Barbie was leashed and dressed in a white leather bikini that looked fabulous against her deeply tanned skin. She had a matching collar around her neck and, when she turned slightly, I saw her wrists were cuffed behind her with white leather cuffs. The couple nodded to us and stood just inside the gate. Then, a moment later, Barbie glanced around and dropped to her knees.

Cassie had clearly heard the gate too and knew there was someone watching her and I could see it by the way she stood that made her tense. I saw Tom stroke her bottom and whisper to her.

'Why don't you go and distract her,' I said to Bryony.

'If you think it would help, Sir.' Bryony looked slightly skeptical.

I let her off the leash and freed her wrists then went to introduce myself to Barbie and her partner.

'The Twat' or 'Charles' as he introduced himself was, like me, an 'outsider' who'd stumbled across the place one afternoon while on holiday and also stumbled across the love of his life at the same time. Somewhat dully, she'd been working in the garden of her cottage rather than clip-clopping around the lanes in full harness though I did get the impression that she was wearing something almost as brief as her current outfit and, when he'd stopped to ask directions, she had ensnared him.

It didn't take long for him to wax lyrical about the Mares' day or his own mare and I found myself quite liking him. He clearly followed the athletics too and had heard of me which endeared him to me.

'Of course, not everyone's been welcoming.' He nodded towards Cassie and looked down at her mother, kneeling docily beside him. 'She's only fifty three...' He confided. 'Why shouldn't she have a little fun of her own?'

'Charles!' Barbie admonished.

Charles looked down sternly and she lowered her head. 'Sorry, Sir.'

'God. I love this place,' he said with a wink in my direction.

*

Chapter 14: Relationships

*

We heard the snap of a whip and the subsequent jingle of bells and looked round. Cassie had gone straight to a rising trot; apparently the 'obstacle course' as it was called was mostly performed at this pace with a few sections at gallop; like dressage, it was done with the mare blindfolded.

Cassie trotted up the yard towards us her nipple bells jingling and her knees lifting beautifully, the walls echoed the clip-clop of her boots on the stone; then she turned sharply right round a cone; from this angle it was possible to see how straight her back was; how tautly she held her shoulders back; her head held high, the perfect right angle of her knees at their zenith; it showed her focus too; the precise determination with which she held the bit between her teeth.

'From what I understand...' Charles said, 'this is all about precision. A bit like dressage but not as freestyle. Turns should be a sharp right angle though sometimes they include forty five degree ones to try to disorientate the mare and test driver control.'

We watched as Cassie turned again, four steps with her knees rising before striking out again to approach the first obstacle, a narrow gap between two cones. Just before Tom's back blocked my view, I had a lovely flash of her back and bottom, her hands locked to her girdle, leaving her round bottom exposed; her tail swishing delightfully. As she passed the first gate Tom used the whip on her flank rather than the reins to turn her; a single sidestep to line her up with the next gate then, as they passed that one another stroke to take her to the left. She zigzagged through the slalom gates and then turned sharply, coming to an abrupt halt, knees rising like pistons before Tom started to take her backwards pulling on the 'barding rein' to 'park' the chariot in an area marked out by more cones. The whip stopped her and again she trotted on the spot.

She was breathing hard already and there seemed to be quite a lot of the course to go.

'There's quite a lot of that in dressage,' Charles said.

Tom flicked the whip and Cassie started forwards.

'There's quite a lot of that too.'

As he said it, Barbie looked up and smiled. Her entire back was once more a mass of welts and bruises; from what I could see her buttocks were too.

I saw Tom drive Cassie forward then try to turn her again but she went round a little too far and he had to use the whip to straighten her courseas she took the ramp to the raised section.

'Penalty point,' Charles commented as Cassie trotted along the boards which were barely wider than the axle of the chariot.

Bryony joined us at this stage, standing beside me for a moment. She had shed her dress and shoes leaving herself naked aside from the harness and cuffs. I saw Charles appraise her. Barbie looked up and smiled too.

'Good evening, Sir.' She said to Charles with surprising courtesy then bent and kissed Barbie on each cheek before dropping to her knees beside me.

Barbie was still leashed and I thought it appropriate to reattach Bryony's.

She seemed to like this, leaning in slightly and brushing her shoulder against my thigh.

'Sir?' She looked up at me. 'Would you cuff me again?'

I bent and clipped her cuffs together behind her back.

'Thank you, Sir.'

I saw Charles smile.

Cassie had come down off 'the boardwalk' and was working her way up the yard at the trot and then suddenly, at the flick of the whip accelerated to the gallop, coming to an almost instant halt just ahead of us, boots skittering on the concrete as she idled at the standing trot.

Her skin was covered in sweat now, shining in the evening light; saliva frothing round her bit and she panted hard; her thighs not pumping with quite the regularity they had a few minutes ago. Tom backed her slightly and then used the whip to peel her off a little like I'd seen the dressage pony, Rubber Dolly, do a few weeks before.

Despite Cassie's tiredness, they took the seesaw easily; her taking the pivot as a jump, no mean feat for a blindfolded restrained girl pulling a full grown man; and a large one at that. The chariot ran gently up the planks which tipped and then ran down the other side as Tom held his hand over the brake.

'That was good,' Charles told me. 'It's another penalty if you use the brake.'

I noticed Barbie smile. The botox might have suppressed a little of the life in her face but her blue eyes were shining and I wondered if this represented pride.

'I assume you know that Cassie is Barb's daughter?'

'Yes.' I nodded.

'And that young Cassie disapproves of me.'

'It's not you, Charles,' Barbie said suddenly. '... Sir.' She corrected. 'It's the fact that I still want to compete.'

Her daughter still had another minute or so and I could see she was tiring as they once again negotiated the seesaw from the other side.

'Though I might say we both share a number of things in common including the fact that we've both chosen completely unsuitable men.'

Charles looked somewhat embarrassed.

'By which I mean, Charles is not her father and that great oaf Tom is hardly the most suitable to pull around a field in a chariot.'

'You disapprove of him?' I asked cautiously.

'Lord no.' She laughed. 'Sorry, Sir. I forget myself sometimes. He's a lovely chap. I mean, she's hardly going to win anything with him in tow.'

'I hope I can still compete when I'm fifty three,' Bryony said suddenly.

'Is everyone going to remind me of my age this evening? Barbie huffed indignantly.

'Sorry Mrs Lovell.'

'That's Barb to you Sticky.' Barbie winked. 'We're both mares.'

I wondered what she thought of her daughter being called Swallow. I assumed she must know why.

*

Cassie arrived in front of us breathless and sweating and Tom stepped down from the chariot. Charles clapped and I joined him. It wasn't as if the girls could do much.

'Well done, Swallow.' Tom patted her flank. 'Now, I'm going to open your blinders.'

Cassie nodded slightly and Tom released the catch.

I saw Cassie screw up her eyes tight and then open them cautiously, blinking. Then she looked down. It's not always easy to tell someone's mood when you can't see all their face and a bridle can alter a girl's expression. However, I was sure Cassie's expression darkened.

'Mum.' She managed round the bit.

'Hello, Cassie,' Barbie stayed on her knees.

There was an awkward silence.

'Hello, Barb,' Tom said.

'Good evening, Sir.' Barbie looked up at him, her tone completely submissive. 'If you don't mind me saying, you have a very well trained mare there.'

Tom smiled and I couldn't help thinking what a surreal situation this was. 'Yes, she is rather fine isn't she.'

'That was a pretty good run, dear.' Barbie looked at her daughter.

'Shang u.'

Barbie looked up at Charles. 'Sir. May I stand.'

Charles nodded and Barbie rose gracefully to her feet; she was naturally taller than Cassie and in the dressage boots that kept her on her toes she towered above her; like this, she was almost as tall at Tom.

'I just wanted to wish you good luck on Saturday, dear,' Barbie said then she leaned in to kiss Cassie on the cheek though, in fact her lips made contact with the blonde's jaw; there really wasn't much face to kiss with all the bridle's straps and the blinkers.

I saw Cassie stiffen.

Barbie noticed it too.

Bryony nudged me and I looked down. 'May I stand too, Sir?'

I rolled my eyes. 'Yes.' Everyone did seem on formal behaviour this evening.

Bryony rose to her feet, rather gracelessly, I thought, in comparison; perhaps it was the lack of boots in her case.

'Cassie,' Bryony said sternly, looking at her friend.

Cassie looked at her mother. 'I hobe you do well on Shaturday, doo, Mum.'

The words were rather forced but Barbie smiled. 'Thank you...' She hesitated. '... Swallow. That means a lot to me.'

I thought there were tears in her eyes.

'Does anyone fancy a trip to the pub?' Tom said suddenly. 'A Notice Day orange juice.'

Things went a little tense again.

'Good idea, Tom.' I wasn't convinced but I felt I should do something.

'Splendid idea.' Charles added.

Whether the girl's agreed of not, they were in bondage and leashed and, in one case bridled.

Charles and I walked to the pub with Barbie and Bryony in tow.

'Do you think she'll come?' Charles asked as we crossed the green.

*

It was clearly ladies' night in the pub.

The place was crowded and there was a buzz of excitement despite the fact that most of the girls were drinking juice or water; most of the 'knights' were too thought a few clutched pints.

I'd left Bryony in just her harness and she wasn't the only one; the mares had shed their outer clothes and there were a variety of fit bodies on display all packaged in leather straps and buckles; nipples decked with bells, tails swishing... it was a fetishists wet dream.

Almost as we walked in, I was confronted by the rear view of a girl bent over a table examining other mare's nipple ring. She wore a racing harness and pony boots and had pink hair and a matching pink tail.

Even as I tried not to look too closely, another girl in harness, a brunette, slapped the pink haired mare on the bottom and she looked round.

'Bristols!' The pink haired girl smiled up at her assailant.

'New tail, Candy?' The brunette, presumably 'Bristols', asked.

'Yes, needed a new one to match.' The girl, 'Candy', I assumed, flicked her pink hair.

'Nice.' Bristols responded running her fingers through the tail's pink strands.

'Larger size.' Candy told her and looked round in a rather conspiratorial manner. I saw her mouth move but she kept her voice low. 'Too much anal.'

'Eye Candy! You naughty thing,' Bristols admonished her friend with another slap to the buttocks and turned away.

Bristols was a rather buxom girl, she was dressed in a field harness which, unlike Cassie's left the tops of her formidable breasts exposed; her nipples sported horizontal piercings and bells tinkled beneath them as she walked away, her own tail swishing.

I wondered if her pony name might just be 'Bristol City'. Whatever her true name, she was a girl with attitude in so much as she was carrying a pint.

I really fancied a pint too but forced myself to order an orange juice. Bryony was on water. As I paid I noticed another 'list' behind the bar, the list of mares alongside figures that were clearly betting odds; Fawn was clearly the favourite at 7-2 on but I was pleased to see Bryony (Sticky Fingers) second at 3-1 with 'The-Cat-That-Got-the-Cream' next at 4-1. There were odds for the field events too with Cassie (Swallow) half way down the field at 11-1 though her mum was clearly favourite to win the dressage at 2-1 on.

Bristol City and Hot'n'Wet weren't expected to do well in their respective classes.

I only had a tenner in my wallet so I put it on 'Sticky Fingers'.

As I turned I saw a blonde in a racing harness take hold of Bryony's bridle. 'Hello Sticky' The girl said pulling her into a very intimate kiss.

'Hello Honey.' Bryony emerged from the kiss with a smile on her lips and a flush on her cheeks.

'You're taking it seriously this year I see.' Honey patted Bryony's chastity belt still firmly holding onto her nipple bridle. '3-1 too.'

With her hands cuffed, there was little Bryony could do but I sensed such treatment didn't bother her.

'And is this the trainer.' Honey looked at me over her shoulder.

'Yes, this is Mr James.'

Honey giggled. 'Is he really hung like a donkey?' she said way too loudly.

'He's a ten at least.' Bryony said rather coyly.

'Nice.' Honey surveyed me lewdly. Like Bristols, I gathered she wasn't being abstemious. 'If you ever want to hire him out, I'm always in need of some training.' She looked at me and winked. 'I'm a girl who needs a very firm hand.'

Honey was clearly a racing mare if not a very committed one.

She released Bryony's bridle and started to turn away but then grabbed her again and turned her round. Obedient pony that she was, Bryony turned, although, of course she was being guided by her nipples and had little choice.

'Bryony, you naughty girl,' Honey admonished. 'Where's your tail?'

The blonde delivered a stinging blow to Bryony's buttocks.

Bryony looked rather sheepish. 'Sorry Hon. I kind of forgot it was Notice Day. That's why we're a bit underdressed.'

Honey looked at me, her hand still in Bryony's nipple bridle. 'Make sure you spank her hard later!'

She gave Bryony another slap and guided her towards me until I took over control.

'Do you have something to tell me?' I asked Bryony as Honey slinked away, her blonde tail swishing behind her.

'Sorry, Sir.' Bryony looked up at me with those lovely blue eyes. 'It's kind of a tradition. We usually to dress up on Notice Day. I kind of forgot with all the training.' She lowered her eyes. 'Honey's right, you probably should spank me later.'

'I might just do that.' I pulled her close using her nipples. 'I should probably spank you for other reasons too.'

She looked up, blue eyes wide, surprised.

'What have you been saying about me?' I asked as sternly as I could.

'Oh!' She caught my meaning. 'I may have been spreading a little propaganda... and a bit of gossip.' She wrinkled her nose. 'Actually, Sir, I do deserve a spanking.'

*

Chapter 15: More Relationships

*

'Sticky!' Another mare gave Bryony a more than friendly kiss barely acknowledging me even though I was still holding the nipple bridle.

'Good to see you, Puss,' Bryony said with a smile.

I gave a tug on the nipple bridle to remind her I was there.

'Sorry, Sir,' Bryony said with a smile. 'This is The-Cat-That-Got-The-Cream.'

The girl turned. 'Call me Cat,' she said with a smile, her eyes drifting down to my crotch. Unlike Bristols and Honey I was pretty sure she was abstaining from alcohol but from the way her eyes had raked over Bryony, I suspected she was indulging in everything else.

She turned back to Bryony. 'You know Cream's away?' she said flirtatiously, her finger running down Bryony's chest.

'Yes, I heard,' Bryony replied. 'I hear the Goose is driving you.'

The Cat shrugged. 'I guess she'll have to do.'

'Pussy!' A girl dressed in riding gear hooked a finger in 'The-Cat's' nipple bridle and, somewhat to my relief, lead her away.

Having regained control over my mare, I lead her towards the beer garden in the hope of finding Tom and Cassie and trying to reduce the chance of another lascivious hand trying to take control of Bryony's nipples.

'How do you get your names?' I asked as I lead her through the back of the bar.

'Oh.' Bryony blushed slightly. 'When we do our first race our friends choose them for us.'

'You're friends have a warped sense of humour.'

'The committee that approves them all,' she told me, 'so they can't be too overt though there's been a lot of fun over the years trying to get names past and I think they've more or less given up.'

'Bryony.' More fingers took control of my lovely mare by her nipples interrupting our conversation. I noticed it was a rather firm grip this time but I was pleased to see no snog accompanying it; I'm not a jealous guy and I'm front of the queue to watch a bit of hot lesbian sex but I was beginning to feel a little irritated at the way my hot girlfriend was being handled so intimately by half the girls in the village; I suspect it was the effect of the chastity; at least, she wasn't being groped by the men of the village.

I recognised the latest handler as the brunette dressage pony from a few weeks before. Up close, she was considerable more attractive than I'd noticed when I'd watched her being whipped into action in the yard; she had unusual grey eyes, the colour of winter clouds and lovely sensuous lips that I could appreciate now they weren't wrapped round a bit. She was clearly older than Bryony, perhaps late thirties and taller; she carried herself with the elegance one might expect of a dressage pony. Tonight, her hair hung in a loose, a glossy black mane, framing her pale face; her skin was almost white and her features highlighted in a contrasting kohl, lips, eyelids, a hint on her cheeks instead of blusher. The whole effect was to make her look deliciously exotic and her pale skin gave her the appearance of a classical statue brought to life albeit one that had been thoroughly whipped at some point along the way.

Like Barbie, she was dressed in next to nothing though in her case, thin strips of black material stretched from the steel collar locked around her throat to her silver nipple rings (horizontal) where they broadened to cover nipples in a way that afforded a modesty absent in the rest of her costume; the strips then stretched down across her belly to disappear between her legs where I suspected they joined her clit ring; a single strand emerged from between her buttocks, running up to the back of her collar. She was wearing her dressage boots, moving with perfect balance despite being right up on the tips of her toes though they appeared to make her move with a slight restlessness.

'All set for Saturday?' she asked with a slight arch of her perfectly groomed eyebrow.

'Yes, Miss Carter.' Bryony's voice was a little unsteady as she looked up onto those storm grey eyes.

'And you must be the new coach.' She brought that gaze across to me and I knew in that instant she had me and that I would probably do anything she asked. 'I understand you are more familiar with me than I am with you.' A smile played across those sensuous lips and I felt a sudden urge to kiss them.

I'm only human and I had been in chastity for two weeks.

'Yes, er... Miss... Carter... You were... are magnificent.'

Those lips curled into a knowing smile. 'That's very kind of you to say so.'

Her voice wrapped around me like a summer breeze.

'I was just telling Mike about how we get our names.' Bryony cut in.

'Were you now?' Miss Carter released me from her gaze. 'Yes, it's all got a bit risque these days, Rubber Dolly was considered a bit out there in my day'

'Rubber Dolly?' I suddenly wondered how that had come about.

'They tried to get 'Rubber Lover' past the committed but they wouldn't have it I've always had a bit of a thing about rubber so it was quite an appropriate choice.' She favoured me with an enigmatic smile.

I looked again at Miss Carter's clothing or lack of it; and she guided my hand to one of the strands that ran from her nipple rings to her clit piercing; it was rubber and I pulled it gently toward me.

'Please don't let go,' she said. 'That get's rather wearing after a while. Dancer has just spent the last five minutes teasing me.'

With the whip marks covering her body I wondered that the snap of a piece of elastic made much difference.

Fortunately, she clarified.

'It's not the pain...' she said in a low voice, leaning forward, 'I actually quite like that.' Another one of those smiles. 'It's just that these...' She pulled the rubber strap where it broadened out over her right nipple to show the underside and exposing her engorged nipple in the process. 'The rubber's got these little cilia on and they drive a girl wild if you know that I mean.' She let the rubber snap back, readjusting the nipple ring and leaned in further. 'There's some down below too.' She pointed to her groin. 'Reuben thinks it's good to keep a mare on her toes.'

I looked at Bryony's chastity belt and wondered if I'd made the right call; perhaps chastity wasn't the only route to victory in their sort of contest.

Miss Carter noticed and patted Bryony's belly.

'I think this is the best way. It requires a lot of discipline not to just keep wanking myself off.' She smiled again. 'Perhaps you and me could talk tactics sometime.'

'I'm sure Mike... Mr James would be delighted.' Bryony said then added rather pointedly, 'after the race.'

'I see you've met Honey Pot.' Miss Carter seemed to get the message.

I must have looked confused.

'Honey Pot.' Miss Carter told me. 'The blonde you were just talking to.' She looked at Bryony. 'That is how you got your name isn't it?'

Bryony did one of her blushes, this one was an eleven; even fiercer than the one in the stable when I'd caught her masturbating; her face glowed so brightly I thought she might spontaneously combust and, as Miss Carter explained that it was by dipping her fingers in this blonde Honey Pot and then licking them that had given Bryony her name the blush spread to engulf her entire body making heat literally radiate from her body; it was a wonder the pub's fire alarm didn't do off.

Miss Carter laughed. 'Anyway it's good to meet you Mike. I'd love to see Sticky here win.'

She was about to leave us when her 'knight' arrived.

'There you are, dear.' He spoke with a slight accent that I thought might be Scandinavian or German. He was holding a leash.

'Yes, Master.' Miss Carter's alabaster cheeks coloured slightly and she stood straight, slipping her hands behind her back and pushing her breasts forwards.

I looked at Bryony in surprise but she had apparently seen it all before.

The man clipped the leash to her collar then took a pair of handcuffs from his pocket and slipped them on Miss Carter's wrists.

'Come along.' He said giving a slight tug on her collar.

'Yes, Master.'

I watched as Miss Carter followed her master towards the door; walking with perfect poise, her bottom swaying. I was focussed enough to realise that she seemed to have a plug but no tail and to notice the mass of bruises and welts that covered her back, bottom and the back of her thighs.

Bryony coughed loudly and I looked at her suddenly.

'Would you mind putting your tongue back in your mouth,' she said rather sharply, 'Sir!'

'Sorry.' I was suddenly aware of the way I'd behaved.

'Don't worry.' She laughed, much to my surprise. Miss Carter has that effect on everyone. And, since you're wondering, no, dressage ponies don't have tails, and yes, that is a butt plug.'

I swallowed. 'Ok.'

'There's probably something else in front of it too.' Bryony said with a slight sigh.

'She seemed very familiar with you,' I said, hoping to learn a little more about this mysterious woman.

'Our schoolteacher,' she said by way of explanation.

'What?' I wished I'd had a teacher like that when I was at school. I'd probably have worked a lot harder but I wondered how an obviously submissive woman who got her kicks being whipped as a dressage pony had any ability to maintain discipline. I've done some kids' coaching, it's a bloody nightmare but, perhaps, she had other ways of controlling people.

Hadn't the dryad in the story stayed in the village and married the village cartmaker?

'Do lots of ponies call their knight 'Master'?' I asked.

'Not really.' She looked slightly awkwardly. 'It's usually 'Sir' or 'M'Lady' but if you want me to call you 'Master'. I'm very happy to.'

'I could get to like it.'

'Yes, Master.' She pressed herself against me, lifting her lips to kiss me.

'What was that for?'

'This room is full of hot women in bondage,' she said. 'I want to keep your attention... Master.'

'Oh, you've got it.' I kissed her again. 'Come on, let's go and find the others before anyone else tries to steal you away.'

*

Cassie and Tom arrived as we stepped out into the garden. Cassie still seemed sweaty and flushed despite the fact that she must have had plenty of time to cool down.

Her arms were still cuffed in the small of her back.

'Play nice.' Bryony hissed to her friend as we went to join Charles and Barbie.

Cassie rolled her eyes but proceeded to kneel down beside her mother.

The two of them looked incredibly hot kneeling side by side.

'Been doing a second run, dear?' Barbie asked her daughter.

Cassie blushed almost as furiously as Bryony had just done and Tom almost choked on his pint.

*

After we walked back from the pub, I chained Bryony in the stable and went to prepare her an evening snack. This close to the race, she needed to fill up on carbs.

When I took it out to her, I found her squatting in the corner relieving herself, the chain to her collar at full stretch. With her ankles cuffed and her wrists chained behind her back she looked quite uncomfortable.

'Sorry,' I said trying not to look at her, naked and harnessed, my kinky little pet.

She shrugged. 'You keep me chained like an animal, perhaps I'm starting to behave like one'

'Not very positive.'

'Sorry, Sir.' I think she was.

When she'd finished, she walked towards me still in a crouch and dropped to her knees.

I put the bowl of pasta down and kicked it towards her.

'Eat,' I told her.

She looked at me, her blue eyes wide, I think she was genuinely shocked but then I saw a flicker of excitement and she lowered her head.

I watched her eat, crouched over the bowl but I didn't enjoy it.

'Stop,' I said after a few minutes and she lifted her head. There was pasta sauce smeared across her cheeks; she looked adorable. 'I'm here to train you, not enslave you.'

She smiled genuinely. 'I wouldn't mind, S... Master.'

She blushed beautifully.

'Actually, I like feeding you,' I told her as I wiped her face. 'It's less messy too.'

I sat down beside her and pulled her into my arms, then began to feed her as she leant against me.

'I do have to punish you later though.'

'Why?' She turned to look at me and nearly got a forkful of pasta in the cheek.

'I'll start because you forgot it was 'Notice Day' and didn't wear your tail.'

'Oh yes.' She giggled, spilling more pasta sauce onto her chin.

'I might also be upset that you didn't tell me the full story about Honey Pot.'

'Oh that.' She snuggled against me. 'It seems all my secrets are coming out now.'

After feeding her, I held her for a long time as she nestled in my arms, naked, helpless and utterly desirable. We didn't say anything but I felt and intense desire for her and each time she moved my cock swelled urgently in its prison. Eventually, I could sense her falling asleep and I eased her down onto her side, wrapping her in the rough blanket. Then I kissed her on the cheek.

'Goodnight.'

'I thought you were going to punish me,' she murmured sleepily.

'I've decided to let you off after what you said about me.'

She opened her eyes and looked up at me clearly uncertain what I meant.

'You said I was a 'ten'.'

'Oh, that.' She grinned. 'I'm sorry to burst your bubble, Master, but I was talking about tail plug sizes and they go up to sixteen.'

My bubble was well and truly burst. I stood up.

'You do have a nice by cock, though, Master,' she whispered. Then, as I closed the stable door, she added. 'I love you, Master.'

I stopped and turned.

'Shit!' she said quietly. 'I didn't mean to say that out loud.'

*

Chapter 16: Final Preparations

*

I brought her a flower with her breakfast.

'Don't go getting all soppy on my now! Just 'cos I struggle to keep my tongue under control,' she warned as she knelt up easing her stiff shoulders as best she could. Her wrists had been cuffed behind her back since we'd been to Tom's yard the previous evening.

'Not a chance,' I replied. 'This is your last intensive day of training. After that it's rest and stretching and carb loading.'

'Sounds wonderful,' she said rolling her neck around. 'Three days in bondage.'

'I like to please,' I said and kissed her.

'You'd better bridle me too so I don't say anything else stupid.'

'Very flattering,' I said.

'I meant most of it,' she said with an impish grin. 'You do have a nice big cock.'

'And the other bit?' I knew I shouldn't have asked.

She looked at me levelly for a moment then shrugged. 'I meant the other bit too.' Then she smiled. 'God! What a girl has to do round here to get breakfast.'

'Want me to untie you so you can eat for yourself?' I asked.

'No, I want you to put it on the floor so I can eat like the dumb animal I am.'

I put the bowl down in front of her and she bent forward.

'I did mean it.' She looked up at me. 'I do.'

I bent and kissed the top of her head.

'You really need a shower.' I told her.

'You can be a real cold bastard sometimes,' she told me.

'I'll remember that when I'm taking the whip to you arse for not pulling hard enough.'

*

I really put her through her paces, keeping her between the shafts virtually all day, driving her up and down the trail and then whipping her in tight turns round the yard with the blindfold over her eyes. It was intense and we were both so focussed we barely noticed the clouds rolling in. Other than the odd shower, we'd spent three months training in glorious sunshine.

I felt the first few drops of rain late in the afternoon as we climbed up to the moor for the eighth time, Bryony straining in her harness, close to exhaustion, sweat running freely down her body. It was the first time I'd ventured out of the yard with her still blindfolded. By the time we gained the crest of the hill I could see the storm out at sea, dark and ominous, lighting flashing, the waves rolling a gunmetal grey with spumes of white. It was a spectacular sight and I watched the flashes as I let Bryony rest.

She looked just as awesome and the steam rising from her body in the chill air the storm brought gave her an almost supernatural quality.

I planned one more run and with the storm coming turned her back, driving her down the hill towards the stream using the whip. She ran beautifully splashing through the water and toiling up towards the farm as I used the whip freely. Then, as she galloped towards the yard the rain began to fall more heavily.

I gave her only a moment's respite before turning her again. The rain was beginning to soak into my clothes and, sat in the chariot I started to feel chill. Part of me wanted to stop but I wanted that final run.

A blindfolded pony at the peak of her fitness.

I sensed a slight reluctance but I used the whip and she obeyed, lifting her legs to a rising trot when I signalled despite her fatigue. It was all very different from that first run three months before when she'd struggled to pull me up the gentle slope in the warm sunshine. I put her to the canter and let her gather speed as we descended the hill and then felt the water of the stream splash up making me shiver but Bryony didn't slow and, when I flicked the whip under her buttocks, she strained in harness up the final climb. The stream had already risen several inches, the rain falling in torrents now; I saw her slip as her boots sunk into the mud.

I probably should have stopped but the sheer exhilaration was overwhelming, driving a pony girl, fully trained and utterly obedient.

I whipped her on and watched her strain.

For the last few hundred yards she toiled against a headwind; the rain stung my face as it struck almost horizontal in the wind and I marvelled at her grit knowing her whole body was exposed to the biting torrent just as I struck the whip repeatedly against her back to drive her on.

As we neared the top of the hill we slid into mist that reduced visibility to a few feet and, as it swirled around me, Bryony almost disappeared from view.

I decided she'd had enough and pulled her to a halt, turning her on the track to take her back.

With the wind behind us she seemed to fly down the hill, the mist chasing us so I only saw how swollen stream was at the last minute. Blindfold and utterly obedient to my control Bryony plunged in, the water swirling around her calves then her thighs, clinging to her as the chariot stopped dead. I felt myself thrown to the side and the current started to take me.

'Fuck!'

We stopped for a moment, the water buffeting the side of the chariot. At first I wanted to climb out and push but, as I moved, I realised that without my weight the chariot would be swept away dragging Bryony with it. Helpless in bondage she could easily be drowned.

I shook the reins and used the whip, watching as Bryony strained to pull us free, the muscles of her shoulders and her back and buttocks tensing, straining as she took one step, then another.

I whipped her again and urged her on.

She gave one final heave and we were free.

'Good girl,' I shouted though I doubt she heard me.

She was naked and soaked and shivering.

I shook the reins and whipped her again forced her to the trot up the hill ensuring she had no respite, driving her to pull with the last of her energy, her tired legs slipping as she tried to find purchase, puling the heavy chariot through the now soft mud that had once been the hard earth base of the track.

She was right, I can be a complete bastard when I need to be.

We reached the top of the hill and I whipped her to the gallop making her give everything as we hurtled towards the yard at breakneck speed; one slip and it could all have gone horribly wrong but I knew she could do it.

I hauled on the brake and the reins just before we entered the yard to check our speed and make sure we didn't skid even as a part of me thought how much fun it would be to do a handbrake turn.

She stood gasping, trembling, chest heaving, the rain pelting her body, running over her skin.

*

She started shivering violently even in the few moments it took me to fetch her blanket from the stable. I wrapped her in it and fumbled to free her from the traces and shafts with my cold fingers. Then I lead her inside.

The house provided some shelter from the rain and wind but it was chill; we'd enjoyed the coolness of the old stone during the heat of the summer but now I wanted warmth. I cast the wet blanket aside as water pooled on the stone floor of the kitchen and started to towel her down, rubbing her with the towel from the kitchen; she was shaking violently, her teeth chattering around the bridle.

'Come on.' I lead her through the hall and up the stairs into the bathroom where I pushed her into the shower turning up the heat before stripping off my clothes and joining her.

'You bashtard,' she screamed through the bridle.

Then she pressed herself against me her mouth seeking mine and, even as her tongue pressed from behind the bit trying to enter my mouth I realised that in my haste I had left her blindfolded.

I held her against me as the water ran over us; her skin was chill against mine but her tongue was hot and urgent in my mouth. My cock surged as she ground her hips against mine.

'Vugging chashtity,' she screamed in frustration. 'You're gonna have do schain me bloody shecurely donighd.'

*

An hour later, she knelt on the living room rug in front of the fire I'd lit. She was once more wearing her weighted harness and cuffs and, of course, her chastity belt. She looked pale and demure, the picture of submission though the mass of welts and bruises on her back and the shockingly bruised state of her nipples where I'd given her a night off from the bridle might suggest to the casual observer that she had been beaten into such a state rather than entering it of her own volition.

'Are you sure you're ok?' I asked as I sat down in front of her with a steaming bowl of pasta in my hands.

'You can't possibly imagine how hot I am for you right now,' she said with a flash of excitement in her blue eyes. 'I'm almost thinking of abandoning any thought of winning the race and walking up to Cassie's to get out keys. Except that I'm really not sure I can make it that far.'

I began to feed her, one mouthful for her and one for me.

'You know that thing you said about being here to train me and not enslave me?' she said though a mouthful of pasta.

'Sort of.'

'Couldn't you do both?' She blushed. 'Being kept chained up in the stable is actually a big turn on. If I'm honest, I've fantasised about it a lot. Although, if you did stay, I'd expect to be chained to the bed most of the time when we weren't training.'

'And what would I get out of this little arrangement?' I asked thrusting another forkful of pasta in to he mouth.

She glared at me. 'You mean having a hot little slave slut who would be willing to please you in any way she can isn't enough?'

'It's a tempting offer.' I smiled a little sadly. 'But you really should ask me again when the race is over.'

'Yes, Sir,' she said. 'Looking at me intensely but I won't change my mind. Whatever happens in the race, I want you to stay here as my Master.'

*

I freed her hands when I walked her back to the stable and she crawled beside me on all fours, leashed and collared; at least it speared her nipples. Then I chained her spreadeagle on her back rendering her utterly helpless and vulnerable aside, of course, from the chastity belt.

'Would you mind gagging me too, Sir?' She asked.

'If you insist.'

She opened her mouth and I put the thick dressage bit between her teeth.

'Sha uu, Shr.' She lay back.

She looked so helpless and vulnerable, I couldn't resist playing with her nipples and she moaned with pleasure despite their obvious sensitivity.

'Blsh, shtob, Shr.' She begged after a few minutes. 'U magging e sho hrny.'

I lifted my fingers away then I covered her in a dry blanket, bent to kiss her and left her for the night.

*

And that was more or less, how we spent the next three days. Bryony in constant bondage and utterly submissive, eating when she was told, stretching and rehearsing the tactics for the race. During these last three days, she showed no embarrassment squatting to relive herself in front of me and, on one occasion when she was tightly chained, even asked me to wipe her pussy afterwards.

I did let her jog a couple of times but only round the yard and only on a tight leash. I made her do it blindfold too.

She ate on her knees crouched over her bowl and asked to be gagged at all other times.

When she spoke, she addressed me as 'Sir' or 'Shr' or, with increasing frequency, 'Master' ('Mshdr') and, when not gagged always preceded it by saying 'If Slave may be permitted to speak...'

As final preparations went it was unusual but remarkably effective.

*

Chapter 17: Race Day

*

On the morning of the race I forced 'Sticky' or perhaps, 'Slave' to eat another bowl of pasta. She was clearly struggling to finish it and had been the same for the previous twenty four hours; I've seen it in a lot of athletes, a mixture of nervous adrenaline and attempting to cram as much nutrition into their guts as they'd normally eat in a week.

When she'd finished, almost heaving on the last mouthful, I let her into the house to shower. Mares, it seems, need to look their best as well as being at the peak of performance. It was at that moment that Cassie arrived with a very important key.

'Only one?' I asked.

'You get yours after the race,' Bryony told me in a surprisingly unsubmissive tone.

'But the extra weight...'

'Is nothing compared to the loss in performance if you loose control and take me over the kitchen table before we leave the house.' Bryony told me with a tension in her voice that made it clear she was not in the mood to argue the point.

She'd definitely dropped the use of 'Master'.

I refrained from commenting as Cassie unlocked Bryony's chastity belt and wished her good luck and then I kept a watchful eye while my lovely mare prepared herself. Then, still frustrated, I helped Bryony into her best harness before lacing the sleeve tight on her arms (racing tight) and strapping her feet into the pony boots. She'd polished the harness the night before and it shone in the morning sunlight. She looked gorgeous; lean, strong a thoroughbred mare; moving from foot to foot with a restless intensity; the pony boots almost part of her and the loss of use of her arms almost normal.

Then I fitted the nipple bridle.

I'd done this on a daily basis in training but handling her breasts like this today was an almost unbearable torment for my poor constrained cock; I'd been in chastity for nearly three weeks but like any good British officer it made another valiant if futile effort to escape.

It did the same when I clipped the nipple bells to her piercing rings.

'Don't forget my tail.' She reminded me, a slight smile surfacing through the tension in her face. 'The lube is in the tube beside it on the bed.'

My cock gave another surge and I'd probably have coped with this but she bent over and spread her legs, lifting her hands to allow me access to her rear end and in the process flashing her newly freed pussy lips. Her hair had started to grow back and I'd just had the pleasure of watching her give herself an intimate shave.

I felt my balls throb painfully, realising that I was about to spend the day among women like this, naked and restrained in pony harnesses and, quite probably, as horny as I was after a period in enforced chastity.

I really hoped Cassie was going to be there with the key when we finished the race.

It was the first time I'd handled her tail; it was lighter than I expected.

'Rubber coated carbon fibre.' She told me as I picked it up.

I ran my fingers through the long red hair.

'It's all mine.' She assured me. 'I had a complete shave when I did my first race and had the hair made up into a tail. Most of us do it at some point.'

I couldn't help smiling at the bizarre situation in which I found myself.

I lubed the plug and, with my cock straining and my balls aching, pushed it gently inside her.

It slipped in rather easily, and I saw it move as her sphincter closed behind the rib just above the base.

'I think I might need a bigger one too,' she said as I clipped the ring to the bottom of her harness to secure it in place.

Then I bridled her. Her 'race-day' bridle had a much better finish than the training bridle and a fitting to hold a 'favour'; all proper pony girls should have a plume to make them look their best. I couldn't help thinking she'd look better with a full mane of red hair rather than the GI Jane look she currently sported. In my view, based in experience now, pony girls should have ponytails or, perhaps plaits.

It was traditional for the knight to bring a favour for his (or her) mare and I'd made up a little spray of feathers about four inches high, it was the logo I used for my training company. My father was from Wales and it was a variation on the Welsh rugby logo.

'Getting a bit of free advertising?' she chided as I clipped it in place.

'I'm thinking of coaching mare's full time,' I told her. 'Some of them are fairly highly strung but the fringe benefits are definitely worth it.'

'I doubt it pays much unless you find a dressage mare.' She sounded surprisingly serious. 'But you can always supplement your income by betting on the winner.' There was a flash of challenge in her eyes.

'I've bet on you.' I assured her.

'How much?' she asked coyly.

'Only a tenner.' I felt embarrassed. 'It was all I had on me at the time.'

'That doesn't give me the impression you rate my chances.'

'You're going to win,' I told her in my best coach voice. Though without seeing any of the competition bar Fawn I really had no idea. However, the odds suggested the villagers knew she was in with a shot.

'Yes, I am going to win,' she told me levelly, 'and after the other day you're the man to help me.'

She leaned forward and kissed me then I slid the bit onto her mouth and locked it in place standing back to take in my perfect pony all decked out for her big race.

*

It was going to be way too distracting to have a fully harnessed mare in the house, especially with her bare sex glistening and available even if I couldn't make full use of it so I lead her out to the yard, hobbling her ankles with a pair of cuffs to stop her overexerting herself and then running one rein from each end of the nipple bridle to separate posts incase she decided to take advantage of her newly freed sex and rub against something.

Then I went inside, dressed in my 'knight's' costume; or rather the modern equivalent; green blazer (every sports coach has one), white jodhpurs and boots then I picked up my whip and went to collect my mare.

*

We walked in silence up to the village other than the almost clip-clop of her pony boots and the tinkling of her nipple bells. I didn't want to interrupt her mental preparation and the bit, I knew, made conversation difficult.

As we approached the village green I could hear the sound of the tannoy system from the Tourney Field making it clear the field events were already underway and as we walked across to the forge I caught the odd words, 'nice reverse', 'good use of the whip' and 'he'll be pleased with that'. It sounded like they'd got as far as the 'obstacle course'. Then there was the sound of applause and I caught the comment 'That Swallow really is a lovely little mare... she did well in the slalom and came fifth in the sprint... definitely in the running for a top three place this year.'

Bryony looked at me and smiled.

'Next up is 'Bristol City' or 'Bristols' to her friends; driven this year by 'Lady Grey'.'

There was a cheer and the sound of a hooter which I assumed signified the start of the 'obstacle course' for the buxom brunette and her 'knight'.

There really didn't seem to be enough men in this village.

I opened the gate to Tom's yard and lead Bryony it. The chariot was waiting for us just inside the gate.

'Ready?'

Bryony shook her head and then gestured towards the wall.

'You need a pee?'

She nodded and I let her squat, gallantly turning my back as she relieved herself in the corner of the yard. Then she stood, gave me a brief smile and I began to harness her between the shafts.

*

Twenty minutes later, after a brief turn around the yard to ensure everything was correctly adjusted I lead her out onto the green and up towards the Tourney Field.

We were half way across when I heard the sound of pony boots off to my left and spotted Fawn trotting gently towards us pulling 'Lady Claire' in the chariot.

'She'z sho vugging cocky!' Bryony exclaimed.

'She may regret it later,' I told her, 'it's a grueling race. In my book she should be conserving her energy.'

'She jussht wantz to magge an entransh,' Bryony persisted.

She would certainly do that. Tall and graceful, back straight and head up, small breasts thrust out, the reins running back in a gentle arc from her nipples to her driver's hand. Fawn had a clear future as a pampered dressage pony when she finally gave up racing though, judging by those I'd already seen, she might need some breast implants if she really wanted to succeed in that class. We watched as she trotted along the road nipple bells jingling, tail swishing, knees rising with an easy grace. Lady Claire sat behind her in a neatly fitted red jacket over a tight white blouse and white leather breeches; she wore a fascinator which resembled a small top hat and had black father dancing beside it. Fawn ignored us but Lady Claire glanced over although she didn't acknowledge us.

'We're going to beat her.' I said.

'Doo righd!' Bryony agreed.

*

There must have been nearly three hundred people on the Tourney Field; as well as mares in harness and knights there were crowds of spectators many sporting 'rural' tweed despite the summer heat; a few carried riding crops; there were others too, pony girl aficionados presumably; quite frankly it was incredible there weren't thousands of BDSM enthusiasts milling around the place to ogle the village's kinky women in their harnesses. There were a few 'outsiders' dressed up including, noticeably, a pair of gorgeous blondes in clinging black rubber that must have been very hot as they strutted about the field; they were strapped into typical BDSM style harnesses with a convergence of leather straps stretched over their pert little breasts and running up to a ring over their nipples. They wore play hooves and were bridled, they sported play ears too and were lead around by a brunette in a white leather bustier and thigh boots; all highly decorative but probably not very functional. (Oh, how my views on life had changed recently). They had a photographer with them and I gathered they were from Equus Eroticus magazine.

The local press were there too but nothing national as far as I could tell. There were, however, a number of telephoto lenses in evidence and I was pretty sure Bryony was being snapped (papped) up as I lead her up the field.

The ground was slightly soft beneath our feet, the effect of the rain from a few days earlier leaving the going medium to firm though, from our point of view, it made little difference as most of the Mares' Race was on road.

*

The field events had just finished and girls in harnesses mostly still attached to chariots were being lead or driven away from the grass track after the final sprint. I spotted Cassie and Tom and the latter waved, giving a 'thumbs up' as he drove Cassie back up the field towards the starting grid they (well, Cassie) had just run up from. She looked as if she was labouring hard after a morning pulling Tom around but she smiled around the bit as she toiled to pull her chariot.

A few mares were already in the starting grid including Eye Candy, her bridle decorated today with a pink plume and The-Cat-That-Got-the-Cream decked out in a strange mix of anthropomorphism with cat ears as her 'favour' and whiskers drawn on her cheeks. Her driver 'Lady Loosy' wore a double breasted jacket over her considerable bust and, I judged, very little beneath; she also wore lederhosen and leather boots.

'This is it,' I told Sticky unable to resist giving her a gentle pat on the bottom.

She made a small noise in her throat but didn't look at me.

I looped the reins over her head and climbed into the chariot. This time it barely sagged at all; then I adjusted the reins in my hand, made sure I was comfortable and flicked the whip under her buttock ensuring I went slightly wide so I didn't catch her tail.

She started off beautifully, her pert little bottom tightening and toned legs straining. She held her head high and pushed her chest out. If she hadn't been papped before, she certainly would be now. I only wished she still had her lovely mane of red hair.

I negotiated the field following Hot'n'Wet past The-Cat-That-Got-the-Cream turning to take up position beside a mare I took to be Joy Toy. Lady Claire and Fawn followed us in. Directly ahead of us I recognised the girl who's nipple rings Eye Candy had been inspecting.

She was called 'Golden Girl' Bryony had told me later. I'd shrugged and suggested it rather an unoriginal name for a blonde considering the goings-on in this village. Bryony had laughed. 'Oh, it's nothing to do with her hair,' she'd said enigmatically then went on to explain, 'she has a habit of wetting herself when she climaxes.' I'd obviously looked puzzled. 'You have to remember...,' Bryony explained, 'for most of us, pussy munching was our first sexual experience. GG gives a girl a rather unexpected shower.'

I couldn't resist asking if she'd had first hand experience but she'd told me a girl had to maintain some degree of mystery which told me all I needed to know. I now knew three of Bryony's ex-lovers.

Whatever the provenance of her name, Golden Girl looked a pretty formidable contender with her Morrisey rings. Her 'knight' was an older lady who I knew to be the mother of Whipped Cream.

Slowly the grid filled, fourteen gorgeous ponies (sorry, 'mares') in full harness, lips drawn back round bits, heads up, breasts bare, nipples hung with jingling bells, sexes exposed and all prancing on their toes in shiny leather racing boots. At least five of the 'knights' were girls and I couldn't help thinking that there must be dozens of hot blooded males in the crowd who would eagerly to strap these pert young fillies into tight bondage and race them for pleasure; but then I'm a new man; I accept that one in four people are gay and, if girls want to drive girls I'm really not going to stand in their way.

*

Chapter 18: The Pony Race

*

The wait was almost unbearable and around me highly strung mares jittered in harness, nipple bells tinkled, manes were tossed and tails swished. A couple of knights used their whips across the top of their mare's buttocks and pulled tightly on their reins to still them.

*

'Ready.'

A silence descended and air of expectation; utter stillness where there had been noise.

The hooter sounded, impossibly loud, clearly startling the crowd as much as many of the mares.

I've been at the start of marathons and fun runs where the field is so large it takes twenty minutes to cross the start line; in my expectant state, the few seconds it took the mares in front to pull away seemed like an eternity; Bryony clearly felt the same and in her eagerness took a step forward almost colliding with the rear of the chariot in front. I pulled hard on the reins giving her a lash to the top of the buttocks; there was an agonisingly long second's pause and then I let her go shaking the reins and lashing her to the trot as a gap opened up to our left. We were a fraction behind Fawn but did have the advantage of the inside track when we reached the gate if we could hold this position.

The gap widened and I drove Bryony on, whipping her to the canter and matching Fawn's pace. The-Cat-That-Got-the-Cream was out ahead and Eye Candy not far behind. There was another mare too, a young blonde with a pretty female knight; neither of whom looked old enough for this event though I knew mares and knights had to be at least eighteen. (Even I'd had to produce my passport for the committee.) She was straining in harness, her knight clearly allowing her to run as she chose and I could see her starting to pull into the lead.

The commentator announced her as 'Pretty Little Thing' and confirmed to me that this was her first race. They were once called 'Ponies' apparently, girls on their first race, Bryony had told me though all the competitors were 'mares' now. Pretty Little Thing would, no doubt, soon tire but her early enthusiasm had created space that allowed me to work up the field matching Fawn's pace. Bryony clearly wanted to gain more ground but I reined her back, using the whip hard to reinforce the command and she relented though a flare of tension in her shoulders told me she was not happy about my tactics.

We passed Salty Petals who I recognised as the barmaid from the Mare in Hand and I couldn't help a sideways glance to enjoy the bounce of her rather full breasts despite the firm support of her girdle and the straps that tried to restrain them; she was wearing clip on bells and these bounced wildly on her nipple's.

A subtle change in Bryony's pace made me look away and I realised the distraction had made me draw her too far to the right allowing Fawn to pull half a length ahead. At least one of us was focussed! I let her run until we were level with Fawn then gently pulled her back.

Ten yards ahead, Pretty Little Thing was first out of the gate with Eye Candy just behind and Puss ('The-Cat...') in third place. Brazen and Golden Girl were next and then Fawn level with us.

We went through the gate in fifth place and I pulled Bryony back to a lazy trot as we headed down towards the village green; she had five miles to run and while I needed her to keep up a good pace, I didn't want her tiring.

Ahead Eye Candy overtook Pretty Little thing as they turned onto the road that ran round the village green and I could sense Bryony wanting to move with them, probably keen to take on Brazen. The road was slightly downhill and I thought it might be good for morale to let her gain a little ground especially as Fawn was close behind.

I took her to the canter and we almost flew past Golden Girl and were pushing hard on Brazen half way round the green when Fawn went past just in front of the pub. Arch rival she may be but, God, she was hot; even more determined than the supreme athlete I'd seen the woods a couple of months before; those long legs stretching out, taut buttocks now surmounted by a streaming blonde tail, her nipple bells bouncing on the nipple bridle as she lengthened her stride. She took Brazen and then pulled in forcing the brunette to slow and us with her. It took only a moment for us to pull out but Bryony had to check her stride and we lost a few yards unnecessarily before passing Brazen. I thought the brunette scowled as we passed but then it can be hard to read a girl's expression when she's bitted and bridled and pulling a chariot.

Bryony seemed happier though, slackening her pace as we crept up on Pretty Little Thing on the climb at the far end of the green. I could see the blonde's knight using the whip quite harshly but the climb through the field had taken its toll on the young mare and I could see she was breathing hard. We passed her relatively easily despite the obvious effort she was putting in but at least she would have bragging rights of being the first out of the gate for her first race. Her name really was quite apt, she was a lovely looking girl; pouting lips, white teeth tight on the bit, green eyes and some lovely gentle curves; if she didn't make it in racing she was going to make a fabulous dressage pony and, decked out in full racing harness complete with tail, she was easily a match for the Equus models.

Despite my best efforts, I couldn't help looking back to get a final view of her lovely young body straining in the tightly strapped green leather racing harness with its gold buckles; the harness was very brief and breast rings gave her little mounds no support at all. She certainly wasn't holding back on style; her nipple bells jingled on dressage style piercings (illegal under racing rules - God, I was becoming to involved in this) ; her bare sex looked newly shaved and I was fairly sure she had a bell between her legs too (surely that was illegal too!). The look of determination in her eyes was delicious and when she fixed her gaze on mine, I almost felt guilty for leaving her behind.

As we turned back onto the top road of the green I caught sight of Golden Girl overtaking Brazen from the corner of my eye. Up ahead, Eye Candy was setting a gruelling pace which Fawn was attempting to match and the pair showed no sign of slacking as they passed through the cheering crowd that had followed the competitors down from the Tourney Field. Bryony clearly wanted to join the leaders but I held her back using the whip to the top of her buttocks to reinforce the tension on the reins that held her to a slow canter so the leading pair slowly pulled away from us.

*

The route lead out of the village, down a long curving road that passed close to Bryony's farm levelling out for almost half a mile before it started to climb again and I settled back to enjoy the race and the lovely redhead in front of me taking in the swish of her tail, the clip-clop of her boots and the tinkling of her nipple bells. She tried several times to close the gap separating us from Eye Candy and Fawn but I was firm despite the slowly increasing distance between us and the two leaders who were still, I thought, setting themselves too swift a pace as they jockeyed for the lead. I reminded myself we were nearing a mile and a half in and there were almost four more to go.

Bryony's strength lay in her tenacity and endurance; I didn't want her to end up like Pretty Little Thing.

About ten yards behind us Golden Girl was settling into a pace that matched ours and I kept an eye on her knowing that if she made her move, Bryony would want to go with her. However, I guessed that her older knight might have a degree of experience and know how to play the long game too.

The valley floor was wooded and quite cool considering the heat up on the Tourney Field.

There were few spectators on this section of the course but a few enthusiasts had made their way down through the trees and a couple of groups were picnicking be the roadside as we trotted past including an S&M couple with her kneeling up in chains wearing nothing but a collar and displaying a lovely pair of breasts while he reclined on a blanket fully clothed with a beer. Although it was shaded here were a few men with cameras (only men) sporting some fairly intrusive lenses too all mounted on tripods. My friends who are into this stuff (photography, I mean) tell me that cameras can virtually see in the dark these days and, when I looked afterwards I found some pretty stunning shots of Bryony labouring in harness; her expression making it clear what she thought of being held back. I also found some shots of Pretty Little Thing and her image went viral for a while on all kinds of kinky Tumblr and Pinterest sites; one pony girl site voted her 'stablemate of the month' five months running.

Though relatively flat compared to much of the course, the valley road was gently undulating and I was fairly sure that when we climbed we made ground on the leaders, losing it slightly on the downhill sections and, by the time we were half way along the valley I realised we were slowly gaining ground.

*

It was when the road began to climb more steadily that Fawn made her move. Eye Candy was clearly tiring, dropping back so that she was only thirty yards ahead. Fawn on the other hand still looked fresh, hitting into the hill at a canter until she passed the pink maned mare and even then barely slowing.

The blonde was clearly pulling away from us and Bryony obviously yearned to follow but I still wouldn't let her.

We took Eye Candy about half way up, the perky little mare was panting hard and climbing at little more than a walk, her knight allowing her a little respite in view of the testing climb.

Golden Girl came with us taking Eye Candy but making no further attempt to move up the field.

By the time we reached the crest of the hill, Fawn was out of sight.

*

I saw Bryony sag, the empty road ahead must have felt soul-destroying after effort of the climb; even though she'd done it well, digging in and driving, the leather harness and traces creaking with the strain of pulling an eighty kilo male up a steep slope with her hands tied and what was to all intents and purposes, a gag in her mouth.

Her skin glistened with sweat and her shoulders heaved as she gasped in deep breaths.

I gave her a little gentle encouragement to keep her recovery active while she got her breath back and then, a few hundred yards on, with the road climbing gently forced her to the canter.

I think she was a little surprised though we had discussed this tactic. I had to use the whip to make her stretch her tired legs hoping that six weeks locked in leg weights had built up her stamina.

*

Some fifteen minutes later we crested the rise that lead us back into the village. Golden Girl had dropped back about twenty yards but was still hanging on to us. I could see the ford at the bottom of the short slope. A crowd was gathered around the water; if there's one thing move exhilarating than watching a pony girl at full gallop, it's watching one splash through water at full gallop. We needed momentum and Bryony knew it; I felt her surge forward and held tight as we gathered pace. This was a dangerous part, the hill was very steep; too fast and my weight in the gig would overtake her making us crash; too slow and we'd be dragged to a halt in the water like we had while training. The river was still a little high and I knew there had been talk of changing the course.

At least there was no chance of us being swept away today.

I let her go, my hand hovering over the brake as we gathered speed and then just checking our descent as we neared the bottom. I got this almost right but the tension in the traces showed that perhaps I'd slowed us just a little too much.

We could discuss it later and, I felt sure we would along with all the other decisions I'd made along the way but (coaching hat on here), I was in charge and this was not time to worry about what had happened. Bryony surged forward with enthusiasm; probably with the thought of cold water on her hot, sweating body. I let her go but then pulled the reins reminding her to judge her pace; so she would cross the little stream in two steps without loosing momentum; she judged it perfectly, stepping out with her right foot and plunging it in as deep as she dared then launching forward to plant the toe of her left boot as near to the other side as possible. Cold water splashed up over me and the gig lurched but we sped through, Bryony pulling us free of the water with almost no difficulty.

I was dimly aware of cheering from the assembled crowd and camera lenses focussed like a hungry press pack on a fallen celebrity, however, there was not time to savour this triumph as the road began to climb again almost as steeply as the slope we'd just run down; this was the hardest section of the course and I didn't want her winded; she tried, of course; with Fawn still somewhere ahead and the exhilaration of fording the stream, to take it too fast and I pulled hard on the reins to slow her to a more sustainable pace and in a few yards she reluctantly slowed though I could see the tension in her body at being thwarted; I delivered a stinging reminder to her bottom with the whip regarding the need to obey me.

That seemed to do the trick and she settled into a steady climb.

The hill was a popular spot for spectators, shaded by trees from the sun and a place where the mares went past slowly enough to be enjoyed fully. It was also a short walk from the Tourney Field and the Mare in Hand. Many of those watching carried cameras, and those that didn't used their phones. I wondered again how this annual race remained any sort of secret at all.

A number held pints too and I rather envied them until I remembered how hot and thirsty Bryony would be toiling up the hill with the bit in her mouth. I'm not a completely heartless bastard.

We were about half way up the hill when it became really steep and Bryony slowed to a crawl; at this point it was largely survival and my lovely redheaded pony had the tenacity to pull through. We moved so slowly at one stage, that a man held out his drink to me offering me a sip. Though I was tempted, I politely declined and, moment later judged it was time to make Bryony's training pay off.

A sharp flick of the whip produced an angry growl but we did gather speed and with a cheer behind us suggesting Golden Girl had just split the ford and the slope levelling out a little Bryony moved to something resembling a jog or 'lazy trot' as the aficionados called it. I could see her shoulders heaving again as if her chest was fit to burst but I didn't spare the whip; this was the place to make up valuable seconds. This sort of exercise was something I needed to introduce onto my conventional training regimes.

By the time we reached the top of the hill poor Bryony resembled a dressage pony, her buttocks and thighs decorated with dozens of red marks though she was so flushed with exertion that it was almost impossible to see them; but our tactics had worked because there; no more than two hundred meters ahead on the far side of the village green was Fawn.

Even from this distance I could tell she was tired; she was a fantastic runner but the pony race required more than just long legs.

Bryony was panting so hard around the bit I could hear it and could see her shoulders rising and falling; the sweat was literally running off her body in rivers, her harness stained and her tail dripping but the sight of Fawn seemed to give her a second wind, or perhaps a third. She surged forward and I allowed this; giving her free rein for about fifty meters before gently curbing her enthusiasm. She bridled but I held firm; drawing even harder on the reins than should have been necessary and shouting 'Whoa!' to emphasise the need to conserve her strength.

The worst of the course was over but we still had nearly three quarters of a mile to go along the green and then out on 'the loop' and then back to the finishing post at the top of the Tourney Field.

I think Fawn might have heard me shouting or perhaps it was the cheers of the crowd because for a few moments, she did seem to pick up her pace, lifting her tired legs and stretching her stride but then I noticed her slow again though I couldn't tell if this was exhaustion or simply her driver holding her in check before the final pull.

We'd gained perhaps twenty or thirty meters with Bryony's little surge and, again, I sensed her frustration at being held back from the bunch of her shoulder muscles and the tension in her legs. However, after a few moments she relaxed, content to trot on at the slower pace, finally allowed to get her breath back.

I guessed the muscles in her legs must be burning from the effort she had put in and the last stage of the course was going to be a real test of stamina and determination. I knew Bryony had it; I just didn't know if Fawn did too.

The next ten minutes were about to the the most memorable of all those moments in my crash course introduction to pony girl racing; the end was in sight, Fawn was clearly tired, we were slowly gaining ground, Bryony had performed brilliantly and, most importantly, I was sitting in a gig somewhere in the Devonshire countryside, driving a real live, very beautiful and very hot red-headed pony girl in full harness listening to the jingle of her nipple bells.

*

Chapter 19: The Finish

*

As we left the green I knew we had a little under half a mile to go. We were no more than fifty yards behind and Fawn showed no response to our approach. All that remained was a gentle climb, 'the loop' up to the Tourney Field and then the final dash to the finish line. I was aware that, if it came to a straight sprint, even in her tired state, Fawn could probably carry the day. If we were going to pass her, it had to be just at the right moment and with enough pace that she wouldn't have time to respond.

I saw Claire glance back, perhaps surprised at how close we were and watched her shake Fawn's reins delivering a couple of sharp licks of the whip. The blonde increased her pace a little but not by much.

Bryony saw this and her response was immediate; she surged forward and I pulled hard on her reins to keep her in check. I was willing to risk a hundred meters of open competition but ideally, I wanted less.

In a few minutes we were thirty meters behind and then twenty. Fawn was either really tired or just trying to draw us on so she could pull away and leave us standing as we entered the Tourney Field. After what Bryony had told, me, I wouldn't put anything past her; the girl had style and, again, I could imagine her as a dressage mare.

*

I could hear the blonde's nipple bells and the wheels of her gig.

Bryony was up for the challenge and I was keeping her on a tight rein.

Ten meters.

We rounded the final bend; the gate to the field was dead ahead and the finish line was about two hundred yards away. Crowds lined the final straight.

Claire glanced back and shook the reins; Fawn increased her pace.

I let Bryony match it.

She so wanted to take the blonde but I held her back.

At one hundred meters the clip-clop of boots and roar of tires vanished in the grass of the field.

We were about eight meters apart.

Claire glanced back and smiled, turning back and continuing to encourage Fawn to run for home.

I hit Bryony with the whip. I single blow across the buttocks, no shout and I released the reins.

Bryony surged forward gaining ground with every step.

Seven meters... six...

We were about thirty meters out when we drew level and I let Bryony have another slap of the whip. I wanted her to know that it was now or never.

Fawn glanced across and increased her pace to match us.

I could see the slight look of surprise on Claire's face and saw her use the whip leaving a long red weal across Fawn's tight, toned buttocks. The fact it was delivered in haste was evidenced by the fact that the whip snagged in Fawn's tail and tore out a tangle of blonde hairs.

At twenty meters, they were half a pace ahead, at ten we were level.

Beside me, Claire whipped Fawn mercilessly thrashing the mare's buttocks and thighs with no thought to placement.

Bryony got one more; a stinging blow across the shoulders, so hard it tore a wound in her skin drawing bright red blood in a line between the shoulder straps of her harness as it urged her to lunge forward like a sprinter hurling herself at the line.

I felt the gig surge as she drew it with her.

It was enough.

Bryony took the tape across her breasts hauling me across the line mere inches ahead of Claire.

We had done it; Bryony had done it; though I like to think I was of some help.

*

I pulled hard on the brake and the reins as Bryony slowed and then collapsed to her knees still harnessed between the shafts. Her breath was coming in great gasps, her chest heaving. Her body was running with sweat, hair matted and shining with it, wet from root to tip, the leather of her harness soaked, tail dripping.

She couldn't talk, not just because of the bridle or even how breathless she was.

She was crying too.

I knelt beside her and hugged her feeling the heat of her body and the sweat soaking into my shirt. Pulling her head against my chest, I kissed her hair and stroked it.

'Shang you.' She managed to gasp around the bit.

Then she turned her head up towards me and kissed me on the mouth with a passion I've never before experienced.

As I held her, I was aware of Cassie and Tom by my side, Tom unclipping Bryony's harness from the traces and shafts.

When she was free I helped her to her feet; her legs were shaking so much, she could barely stand and Tom and I had to support her. I suggested we get her out of the harness and sleeve but she refused.

'Nnngg. Shtay in id undil we ged zhe drophy,' she told me around the bridle shaking her head for emphasis, saliva spraying as she spoke and her soaked hair flicking round and spraying us with sweat.

'At least let me take the bridle out and have something to drink.'

'Yesh.' She nodded. 'Good!' It was almost as if she was drunk.

I flipped out the bridle and Tom held a bottle of sports energy drink to her lips.

Bryony drank thirstily, sucking the bottle dry between breaths.

'Thank you. That's much better.' She almost convinced us and then she staggered and sagged between Tom and I, shivering violently and vomiting half of the liquid she'd just drunk.

'Come on,' I said, as we more or less dragged her by the arms trying to get her out of the way of Golden Girl as she crossed the line in third place. 'Let's get her into the sunshine to warm up. Do you have anything to wrap her up in.'

Someone produced a picnic blanket and we sat Bryony in a patch of sunshine with her knees pulled up wrapped in the blanket and leaning back into my arms.

'At least let me take the single sleeve off.'

'Not gonna happen.' Bryony shook her head again emphatically covering me in another shower of sweat. Her teeth were still chattering. It's not an uncommon reaction to see athletes do this at the end of endurance races and I knew it would pass but it did upset me to see her like it especially, given all our preparations. I should have prepared her for it but then what could I say? 'You'll feel like shit afterwards...' It's not a good motivator. I sat holding her in my arms watching as Eye Candy crossed the line fourth some ten minutes behind us.

When that bout of cheering settled I became aware of shouting, a commotion a few yards down the field.

'Get a fucking grip you temperamental bitch!'

The shout was accompanied by the crack of a whip and I peered round a line of spectators to see Fawn, still in harness, shaking her head and stamping her feet and cursing through her bridle. Claire was using the whip to the top of the blonde's buttocks and pulling on her reins as she tried to control the angry mare.

'Stop it!' Claire targeted the top of Fawn's buttocks again and the mare twisted in her harness as if trying to shake herself free. I was tempted to intervene and, if Bryony had been in a fit state to leave, I probably would have.

It took a while but eventually, the blonde mare calmed down and stood sobbing dejectedly.

I watched Claire pull in the reins again. 'Back up you prissy blonde slut!'

She delivered a couple of fierce 'reminders' to the top of Fawn's buttocks one of which drew blood and this seemed to be enough to bring the blonde under control. With obvious reluctance Fawn took a step back ward and then another.

'Who says you can't make a racing mare back up.' Tom said with a faint smile.

Claire looked back over her shoulder and used the reins to guide her chariot towards us.

'Well done!' She held out a hand to me and I took it. She had a powerful grip; most wheelchair athletes have. Then she leaned down awkwardly and gave Bryony and hug of sorts. 'Great performance, Sticky.'

'Thanks.' Bryony looked up pressing her cheek against Clair's forearm as she tried to stop her teeth chattering.

'The first round's on us,' Claire told us. 'Well, me.' She looked towards Fawn standing stiffly between the shafts, rocking from foot to foot. 'I don't think Fawn's quite ready to be gracious in defeat yet.'

'Thank you.' I stood and gave Claire a hug, noting how she was strapped into the chariot like a wheelchair athlete, on her knees. Then I stood back as she flicked the whip and shook the reins, driving Fawn across the Tourney Field away from where the crowd was starting to gravitate to towards the dressage arena.

*

We missed Rubber Dolly's performance, Bryony still wasn't up to moving so we sat and watched the later runners of the Mare's Race coming in; Pretty Little Thing bringing up the rear and limping badly. There weren't many to see her personal triumph but I gave a cheer and was rewarded by the most dazzling of smiles as the pretty blonde gratefully stopped to catch her breath.

Bryony nestled her head against my shoulder.

'Come on,' she said, 'put my bit back in and let's to watch Barbie.'

By the time we made it to the bottom of the field, Miss Carter/Rubber Dolly was being driven out of the dressage arena. The teacher and part time ultra-hot dressage pony looked almost as perfect as she had done in Tom's yard though I detected a very slight tremor in her legs as she trotted elegantly, head held high and breasts thrust out. Her pale skin shone with sweat and her back, buttocks and flanks were a mass of fresh angry looking red welts. Just as the time I'd seen her in action in Tom's yard, she was way more than half naked, the girdle that attached her to the chariot her only slight modesty, this one was obviously heavy-duty black rubber as were the dressage boots that came up to her knees; other than that, she wore her dressage harness and the full face rubber hood although this was now topped with a bridle of sorts sporting a tall black head-dress; the bridle had no reins, of course, just a huge black rubber bit that held her jaw wide and made her drool incessantly. The head-dress, her 'favour' took the form of a stylised tree bearing a crop of gemstones that danced and sparkled in the sunlight; she wore nipple bells too, dulled to black to match the rubber of her costume. She looked magnificent as she trotted past her nipple bells jingling and the crowd cheering.

Barbie was up next and, if Rubber Dolly lived up to the village legends about a dryad crossing into the mortal realm, Barbie was a beautiful doll come to life. Slightly taller than Rubber Dolly she entered the arena at a trot taking a cut of the whip to her buttocks as she passed her rival though neither girl could have known how close they passed as both were hooded. The two 'knights' nodded in salute.

Barbie's rig, at least her hood, girdle and boots were in white leather that shone in the sunlight. The straps that restrained her and the laces of the boots and hood were in purple and gold and her blonde mane cascaded behind her, plaited with ribbons to match; her bridle supported a single white ostrich feather fluttering above a gold disc on her forehead. Dressage is all about show and Barbie was the perfect show-pony even down to her bit which was clearly a ball gag, a crowd-pleaser, this huge purple ball stretched her jaw as extremely as the harness restrained her arms tightly behind her and the girdle narrowed her waist to an almost impossible looking hour-glass. Her huge breasts jutted in front of her, nipple bells swinging; these weren't the little round cat-toys like Bryony and the racing mares wore on their nipples, these were proper bells three inches across with a clapper swinging inside them that rung like cowbells as she trotted into the arena on her toes, forced to there by the most gorgeous pair of pony boots I'd ever seen; in thigh high white leather.

*

The dressage arena was a large rectangular area of grass with six upright posts in the centre. The final run of the day had attracted quite a crowd, more, I thought, than had lined the finish of the race and they stood three to four deep watching expectantly as Charles drove round the perimeter to give all the spectators the full benefit of his gorgeous mare in harness.

Dressage is done to music, a sort of pony dance and, while it shares a lot of features with the obstacle race in the field competition it provides way more opportunity for expression; a sort of bondage pony ballet. Barbie was performing to the Copelia which I'd googled to discover was about a doll who came to life in a small village and from the first bars she had the crowd's full attention lifting her leg gracefully and sinuously into the air and, in the process, giving a large section of the crowd including her daughter who stood beside us, a very clear view of her clit ring and it's attached rein nestled in a beautifully sculpted pink rose. Then she lowered her leg slowly, completely balanced between the shafts and suddenly struck out in a rising trot that saw her bring her knees up to the height of her huge breasts.

She was perfectly upright as she crossed the arena and then reversed before 'cascading' through the six uprights, still at the trot; she paused for a moment marking time, hips swaying, and then peeled away in a 'dressage' canter which was essentially skipping before taking the posts at the gallop; her shoulder seeming to brush past each one such was the tightness of her line.

After that there was some high kicking timed to the music and the whip and another run at the posts; then she dropped to a crouch spreading her thighs and arching her body in a display which would have been the envy of any limbo dancer and ensured every member of the crowd had seen her piercing in detail.

Finally, she took the poles backwards before galloping down the field to come to a perfect stop before the judges.

*

Chapter 20: Rosettes & Prizes

*

We waited nearly fifteen minutes for the judges' verdict during which Charles drove Barbie out of the dressage arena and 'parked' his chariot beside Rubber Dolly and Reuben; the two ponies standing stock still side by side while the judges conferred. It was a beautiful sight, these two perfect mares, blonde and brunette, black and white standing obediently on their toes, blind and helpless for the pleasure of the crowd who pressed closely around them.

It wasn't too surprising that a few of the more adventurous tried their luck, fingers brushing flesh and even hands setting nipple bells swinging. Despite such liberties being taken, both girls remained statue-like, the glares of their knights and the occasional flick of one of the knights' whip ensuring that liberties were not taken too far.

A huge cheer that went up when Barbie was declared the winner and, realising how close it had been, I wished I'd seen Miss Carter in action. I did, however, have the pleasure of watching the two dressage mares trotting side by side towards the presentation stage followed by the crowd and the remaining knights and mares.

Dirty Dancer won Queen of the Field while Cassie came third overall but seemed pleased with second place in obstacle race.

'You're going to have to lose some weight,' she chided Tom as he helped her down from the stage with her rosette clipped to her left nipple bell. 'There's no way I can do well in the sprints with you on board. Perhaps mum's right and I should trade you in for a lighter model.'

'You say that now...,' he said, patting her on the rump, '... but size is an advantage in some areas.'

Cassie giggled and pressed herself against him.

Bryony had recovered enough to climb onto the stage and, like Barbie, she received the red rosette, the head judge clipping to her nipple bridle as she stood, still fully bridled and in harnessed. I had to accept the trophy as my lovely mare didn't appear to have a free hand with which to receive it. There was a distinct absence of anyone to take credit for second place but Golden Girl accepted her third place rosette with good grace and this seemed popular result judging from the cheers, applause and general shaking of nipple bells that accompanied her presentation.

*

After the prize-giving, the contestants and spectators began to disperse, mostly drifting towards the pub, some with more enthusiasm than others. With Bryony in tow and Cassie and Tom at my side, I followed them. Business was brisk and already there were people spilling out onto the green, drinks in hand, a mixture of spectators and contestants, mares still in full harness and bridles; some of them, like Bryony still sleeved or cuffed.

The sign above the door had changed; the'Mare in Hand' was one of the two-legged variety and, I noticed, a redhead. I wondered if there were at least two other signs sitting in the cellar waiting their turn; one, perhaps, depicting a leggy blonde and the other a brunette; perhaps there was even a pot of pink paint incase Eye Candy had won.

As we entered, I passed Miss Carter better known this afternoon as Rubber Dolly, runner up in the dressage contest; she had traded her full face hood for a Gwen style hood, still in black rubber, of course, and her arms also still encased in rubber were folded more comfortably behind her back more in the style of a field mare. She still wore her black favour and, I spotted as we passed, she was now sporting a tail; for some reason I felt the urge to run my fingers through it; and she turned to gave me saucy wink before following her knight and master out onto the green guided by the leash that was clearly attached to her clit piercing. It took all my willpower not to slap her on the bottom as she went.

Inside, Bryony pressed herself close to me and I shouldered my way to the bar; as a 'knight' I found a certain willingness among spectators in the crush to allow me through in a way that was almost unheard of in an English pub though I think this might have been to allow them to close ranks again as I passed and press themselves against the completely helpless and almost naked redhead I had in tow. I ordered a couple of pints watching Tom pocket just over a hundred quid for his bet on Byrony and wished I'd bet more too. He'd bet each way on Cassie too though that little windfall wasn't going to allow him to retire. I took out my wallet not expecting to pocket much of my thirty quid but when I came to pay for my drink but the landlord waved me away pointing across the bar and I turned to see Claire sitting in one corner in her chair with Fawn kneeling at her feet.

I'd assumed they'd gone home with Fawn in a sulk or perhaps to plan for next year.

*

I made the reverse trip through the press of bodies, Bryony sticking close and went over to thank our clearly sporting rivals.

Claire raised a half drunk pint glass; an empty one sat beside it. 'To the winners,' she said. Then added with a smile, 'though we will beat you next year.'

I tapped my glass against hers. 'May the best mare win.'

She looked down at Fawn who appeared the picture of dejection. 'Come on Helen.'

The blonde mare was still harnessed and sleeved and wore her bridle and, when she looked up, I could see she was still bitted too. She had clearly been crying giving her blue eyes a watery hint.

'Well done, Shir,' she said with as much grace as she could muster and a decent dose of humility. She looked at Bryony. 'Well done, Mishtresh.'

Bryony detached herself from me for a moment and squatted down, nuzzling her cheek against the kneeling blonde's then she stood and reattached herself to me.

'Come on,' I said taking a swallow from my glass, 'let's go and find Cassie.'

'Dring, please, Mashter,' she said.

'What?... Oh.' I held her drink to her lips and she took a sip. 'Oh, that'sh good.'

'I can release you if you want me to.'

'No.' She shook her head forcefully. Then she leant in and whispered. 'Not pony now, Shticky ish Mashter'sh liddle shlave shlut now. You have to keeb Shticky in bondage. Shtricd bondage.'

'If you say so.' I grinned.

'Yesh, Mashter.' She giggled. 'Don'd worry, we don'd have to shtay long. Then you can tagge your liddle Shticky home and vugg her shenshlesh.'

She'd only had a couple of sips so I knew she wasn't intoxicated; I guessed it was nervous exhaustion and a lot of intensely bridled lust.

We went out into the garden passing a line of girls, Eye Candy and Pretty Little Thing among them taking part in a race to see who could down a pint quickest while wearing a bridle; like most of these 'boat race' type events, more beer was spilt than was drunk but I suspected all six girls would have plenty of offers to have their bodies licked clean later and, from what I knew of the village, guessed that some of them might even be planning to do this to each other.

We found Cassie kneeling in front of Tom who was being congratulated on his success in the 'obstacle course' by a knight and (field) mare I didn't recognise. Tom had released Cassie's hands from the back of her girdle and taken out her bit but her hands were still in the bondage sleeves. This appeared to be an arrangement she enjoyed. She thus held a pint glass between the flippers her hands had become and when she spotted Bryony she downed the last mouth full and jumped to her feet.

'Sticky!' She hugged Bryony squeezing her and kissing her on the lips. At this moment, I really didn't mind though I did look away; there was plenty to distract me including the arrival of Barbie.

*

The blonde dressage mare had clearly been somewhere to change and for a makeover after removing her hood. Her hair was primped and her make up perfect, lips and eyelids a purple to match her rig. Her hood might be gone but her neck was now encircled by a surprisingly strict posture collar in white leather and she still wore her bridle and white plumes; she was still 'bitted' too, the purple ball gag forcing her mouth incredibly wide, purple glossed lips stretched intensely around it. She was no longer restrained in the dressage harness, it had been replaced by a shiny single sleeve in purple with white straps and gold buckles, there was no doubt her elbows were touching. I was pleased to see the thigh high pony boots in still in place keeping her very much in her toes; they looked as if they'd had a quick polish. Like Rubber Dolly, she wore a tail; another 'village tradition' I assumed or, perhaps dressage mares didn't want to miss the opportunity to go to the pub in wearing a butt plug like any other mare. She wore no harness so, other than the boots and the bondage she was gloriously naked, though I was glad to see she was still wearing her nipple bells; I could hear them jangling as she walked, following 'Sir Charles' who held the leash that was clipped to her clit ring.

Dressage was all about the showmanship so I supposed it was expected that dressage mares should want to hog the lime light. She might be twenty years older than some of the racing mares but she was immediately the centre of attention even in a crowd of seminaked and harnessed women.

When I looked back, Cassie still had her arms around Bryony but she was looking at Barbie with a frown on her face.

'Cassh!' I heard Bryony say.

'Oh, alright!' Cassie tossed her head petulantly and, disengaging herself from Bryony, walked towards her mother.

They stopped in front of each other, Charles looking way more nervous than a man leading a beautiful leashed and submissive woman had any right to. It was almost as if the entire village held its breath.

'Well done, Sir.' Cassie said to Charles.

'Thank you.'

'Well done, Barbie.' The blonde said, looking directly at her mother.

Having delivered her piece, I though Cassie was about to turn on her heel but then she took a step forward and wrapped her leather sleeved arms around her mother. Helpless to resist or to respond, Barbie looked rather stunned for a moment but then she leant forward pressing herself against her daughter and touching her cheek on Cassie's.

The village released it's collective breath and there was even a small ripple of applause.

'May I?' Cassie reached out towards her mother's leash and, after a brief pause, Charles passed it over, looping it around Cassie's wrist.

'Well done, Charles.' Tom strode over and shook his hand. 'Barb.' He nodded to the slightly perplexed looking blonde as her daughter lead her over to the side of the garden for what I can only assume was a 'daughter-mother' chat or, given that Barbie was very securely gagged, perhaps more of a lecture.

*

A string of mares came to congratulate Bryony which largely seemed to be an excuse to fondle her rosette and thus play with her nipple bridle. I'd almost got used to the idea of strange women playing fast and loose with my girlfriend's nipples (and any other parts of her anatomy they chose) but, on this occasion a number of them congratulated me too; including Pretty Little Thing, whose gushing praise for my training of 'Sticky Fingers' and unrestrained thanks for my cheer as she crossed the line lead even Bryony to raise an eyebrow. My interest was, of course, purely professional, but I have to admit that, were Bryony not to need my services next year, I would certainly have been willing to offer them to this lovely pert and clearly very determined little blonde.

As a string of nubile young women in various states of undress and restraint pressed their bodies against me I got the opportunity to put a few faces to names. (My cock was still firmly restrained so there wasn't much else I could do to take my mind off it).

I thus got to meet 'Saucy Peach' (redhead field mare with a nasal piercing), 'Fussy Duck' (very sexy blonde field mare with a big nose and a nervous laugh), 'Dewy Petals' (slender brunette racing mare who gave me a very intimate thank you) and 'The Pink Pussycat' who was called 'Pee-Pee' (nothing to do with Golden Girl) who had bright pink hair like Eye Candy. 'The Cat That Got The Cream' came to pay her respects too looking rather resentful to be still in harness and lead round on a leash by the 'Loose Goose' or, as she was this year 'Lady Loosey'. I found out that 'The Cream' or 'Whipped Cream' to give her the full glory of her pony name was absent this year because she was in Venezuela on a gap year.

I also had the pleasure of meeting 'Dirty Dancer' who I recalled had rather enjoyed herself playing with Rubber Dolly's outfit on our last night in the pub. The new Queen of the Field was a very pretty girl with a smooth chestnut mane, blue eyes and coffee and cream complexion who moved, well, with the grace of a dancer; she was another potential dressage competitor if I was any judge. I didn't have the opportunity to find out how she'd ended up in a rural Devon village; the girls' school, I assumed. However, she wasn't going to be fiddling with anything today; her knight had very sensibly kept the lovely brunette tightly strapped in her field harness and, as a 'fully fitted out' mare, he was keeping her in check with a leash through her clit piercing.

*

Chapter 21: The Pleasures of Victory

*

There was a lot of drinking and I managed to get a second pint in leaving Bryony with her entourage of admirers briefly as I went to the bar. Inside the pub, I was pleased to see that Fawn seemed to have recovered a little of her spirits and was sitting in Claire's lap knocking back what looked like a neat scotch and apparently enjoying a little nipple play. It was probably just as well I'd left Bryony behind because I met Miss Carter again and this time gave into the urge to play with the elastic of her costume. She smiled gracefully and winked as I twanged what might loosely be termed a bra-strap, then I slapped her bottom hard. Those grey eyes seemingly smouldering with lust as she did so. I met Honey Pot too or rather she met me and, without Bryony's nipples to distract her, she made an instant grab for my cock giving it a squeeze.

'She still has you locked away then.' She laughed then proceeded to wrap her arms round my neck and attempt to push her tongue down my throat.

My cock responded appropriately and got another squeeze for its pains. 'I see she has you well trained,' Honey Pot said with a smile taking my pint and helping herself to a healthy swallow. 'Thanks,' she said with a grin. 'By the way, you do know that Bryony takes a size ten don't you.'

I opened my mouth to speak but shut it again because I couldn't think on an appropriate response.

'Though that is confidential,' Honey told me. 'As far as I'm aware no man has ever proved it if you know what I mean.'

She gave me a peck on the cheek and vanished leaving me to returned to the beer garden with a half full glass.

As I emerged, I was greeted by a drunken chorus of 'Barbie Girl' and found mother and daughter down on their knees taking part in another 'mares' drinking game. They were both crouched over what I can only describe as dog-bowls filled with what I assumed to be beer (there was a lot of it so I hoped it wasn't champagne for both their sakes); both were lapping furiously to the encouragement of the surrounding crowd. Barbie was still very much in bondage, arms sleeved and with her bare pussy and it's shining ring very much on display where her blonde tail had somehow ended up draped over her buttocks; I gathered this was something to do with the fact that Charles was standing behind her holding her leash, still attached to her clit ring. It also revealed that her clit wasn't the only part of her sex that was pierced (she'd been some distance away in the dressage field); she had eight labial rings too, at that moment locked together with a pin through them and, from the way her sex bulged, it was fairly obvious something large was locked inside. Perhaps this was why dressage ponies always seemed to have a smile on their faces. Cassie was crouched beside her on all fours facing me and presumably giving a similar show (minus the piercings) to the crowd behind her.

Tom gave me a knowing wink and raised his glass to mine, telling me that Cassie had agreed to have her clit pierced if she lost. I was about to ask him what would happen if Cassie won; I certainly hoped her mother wouldn't be expected to hang up her bridle and retire, but at that moment Bryony suddenly pressed herself against me with an urgency that made my cock stir.

'I've been looging for you, Mashter,' she said with a slightly accusatory tone or perhaps it was the effect of the bit still between her teeth.

'I went to get a drink,' I told her holding my pint to her lips. 'I thought you'd enjoy a bit of time with your admirers.'

'A knighd ish shuppozed to loog after hish mare,' she told me looking up at me with what I can only describe as hunger in her blue eyes.

'I'm sorry,' I said. I genuinely was. 'Drink?'

'You can'd ged round me thad eashily,' she said though she gratefully accepted a sip around her bit.

'And how can I get round you?'

'Well, Mashter, I'd give almosht anyshing to have your cogg inshide me righd now.'

'Anything?' I looked down at Barbie, sliding my hand between my own mare's legs.

She was soaking wet.

'Does Mashter wand to mage me a dresshage mare?' She clearly knew what I was thinking.

'Might be fun,' I said playing with her clit.

'I'm sho horny, I'd led Dom hammer a hod rivid through if id meand you'd shag me righd now.' She looked at me with an urgent intensity. 'Bud if you don'd dage your hand ovv my clid I'm gonna cum in frond of all theze people.'

Reluctantly I slid my hand out of her wet pussy.

'Tage me home and vugg me.' She said. 'Now!'

I thought I was supposed to be the master and her the slave but I didn't argue.

**

It was another kitchen table moment when we finally made it back to the house. Bryony still resolutely in bondage, booted and bridled. My first full pony fuck if you include the tail.

'It'sh in the drawer.' Bryony gestured with her head as I virtually forced myself on her the moment we entered the house.

'You've had it here all along.' I almost screamed at her. 'You are going to get so spanked!'

'Yesh, Mashter!' she said with obvious excitement leaning back against the kitchen table with her legs apart.

I pulled out the key and fumbled with the chastity belt barely able to get it off my rampant cock then I shoved myself inside her feeling her squirm underneath me, howling and writhing as I pounded away at her, to the sound her tail plug thumping against the table with every thrust.

She climaxed just before me, screaming as she came and then I wasn't aware of anything as my cock erupted inside her and pleasure overwhelmed me.

*

When I opened my eyes, Bryony was lying beneath me, eyes glazed.

'Bedroom!' she gasped as I climbed off her, 'and will you dake thish bloody shing oud of my arshe'

We made it to the bedroom, her running up the stairs in front of me with her tail swishing and throwing herself on her knees against the bed.

I unclipped the tail and pulled it out.

'Shank God for thad.' she gasped.

'Don't you miss it?'

'No!' She looked around at me. 'And don'd even shink about id!'

'Really?' I asked with a slight smirk. 'You know I'll fit. I am a size ten'

'Bashtard!' She didn't move. 'Oh, jusht ged id over withh.'

It was a bit more fun than that, certainly for me and I think she enjoyed it too.

I pushed my cock against her stretched sphincter and it slipped in easily; I was stiff again already and still wet from our kitchen table fuck.

'Vugg!,' she gasped as I slid further inside her.

The tightness of her arse felt a bit like the prison my cock had so recently been released from but this ring stretched to accommodate me.

As I pushed in, I slid my hand between her legs finding her clit slick and swollen.

'I could clip a bell to this,' I told her as I played with it.

'Don'd pussh id.' She whispered even as she pushed herself back onto to me and a deep moan escaped her throat.

I didn't push it, not too hard anyway. Even this soon after cumming it would have been over very quickly. She was so beautifully tight. So, I took my time freeing her nipples from the bridle with my cock gently sliding back and forth. After their long captivity, her little buds were intensely sensitive firing her with a true mix of pleasure and pain as I played with them, pushing my fingers through the piercing rings and teasing her as I nibbled at her shoulder and pushed myself inside her until my balls tapped gently against her sex.

'Bashtard!' she said.

'What now?' I slipped my hand back between her legs seeking her clit again.

'Shtop drying do make me enjoy id!' she said rather unconvincingly. 'Oh! Vugg!'

I was pretty sure she came but I know I did, shooting another load into her body.

*

'You do know you have lipstick on your face?' She lay back on the bed, free now of the bridle but still harnessed and still wearing her boots. She had her thighs spread, her sex gaping in front of me.

I rubbed my cheek where Honey Pot had kissed me.

'Actually, it's all over your lips.'

'Honey Pot Jumped me...' I tried to explain rubbing my lips and noticing that I'd smeared the vivid pink lipstick on her lips and shoulders.

'Yeah, yeah.' She shook her head. 'And Rubber Dolly's arse slapped itself against your hand.'

I felt myself reddening.

'You're cute when you blush!' she said with a giggle. 'Maybe I could get you a modelling job.'

'I owe you at least two spankings, you know!' I told her. 'I can make it three... and then there was the business of the key.'

'You think I'd trust Cassie with the key to that thing?' she shot back looking at my already stiffening cock. I'd suggested she could lick it clean after taking her anally but she'd told me I had to go and wash it before it came anywhere near her again; not very submissive but it was a point I wasn't going to argue over. I had plans to keep her in line.

'You really are going to get spanked now,' I told her.

'You've been promising to spank me for days,' she said with a look of defiance. 'Weeks, in fact. The last really good spanking you gave me was when you found me frigging myself in the stable. Now that was a spanking.'

I rolled her over. Her back and buttocks were black and blue and red from where I'd used the whip in the race. The gash at the top of her back had closed over but she still had a trail of blood down her back.

Despite the abuse she'd already endured, she giggled as I brought my hand down on her bottom.

'You hit like a girl!' she squealed kicking her legs.

I struck her again.

'Worse than a girl.'

I hit her harder.

'Better.'

By the time I got to ten my hand was sore and she'd stilled; her bottom was glowing.

I rolled her over and she lay on her bound arms looking up at me spreading her legs.

'Keep me like this!' she said with a dreamy look in her blue eyes, 'Master.'

If she meant she wanted me to keep her in bondage, it was an offer I couldn't refuse, but if she meant she wanted to stay in the bedroom, that wasn't going to last long; I was already planning her training regime for next year so in a couple of weeks, she was going to be back in the stable, for a few nights a week, at least.

Bryony and Mike will be back soon in 'The PonyGirl Polo Match'