The PonyGirl Polo Match Pt. 02

CHAPTER 8: PONYGIRLS IN TRAINING

*

The flight to Buenos Aires passed unremarkably, the only hiccough being the need to take a party of girls with a variety of interesting piercings through security at Heathrow. The-Cat and Bryony had been frisked while Rubber Dolly was lead away and we waited for an anxious thirty minutes especially after a young woman whose badge identified her as Dr Collins, followed her into the holding room carrying several packets of latex gloves. However, after her detention and presumably intimate examination, the enigmatic brunette emerged smiling and apparently laughing with the young woman doctor beside her.

'I have a G-spot piercing.' She said with a grin when quizzed. 'It's not a crime.'

Apparently the piercing was inserted under guidance of an ultrasound probe and consisted of a bimetallic strip that, in the depths of her pussy generated minute electric currents.

'I'm constantly horny'. She confided at the end of her explanation. 'And when Reuben's tongue stud catches it, I couldn't stop myself climaxing even if I wanted to.'

She concluded by revealing that the young doctor who'd just examined her had taken details of where they were available.

Perhaps, the sensations kept her amused through the flight although, I noticed somewhat jealously, that she slept through most of it, her head lying gracefully on Reuben's shoulder, her face in a half smile while the rest of us flicked through entertainment channels and tried to find a comfortable position.

Thus, as most of us emerged from the fourteen hour flight bleary eyed, the lovely brunette strode out bright eyed if not bushy tailed.

We were clearly expected; there was a very fit looking senorita waiting for us in arrivals dressed in a blue jacket, crisp white blouse and very tight white jodhpurs. She was clearly an athlete, standing upright with her head up and shoulders back, hips thrust slightly forward; a woman who was proud of her body and worked to maintain it. Even if she hadn't carried a sign saying 'Mares-de-Launce Pony Club' I think we'd have spotted her, especially when I realised the shiny black leather knee high boots she wore ended in the shape of a hoof.

She had typical Hispanic features with dark eyes and full lips though her hair was dyed blonde and drawn back in a sleek, oiled pony tail. She introduced herself as Jacintha in a strong, lisping Spanish accent, something that wasn't helped by the tongue stud that clicked against her teeth as she spoke. Jacintha clearly remembered Cream rather fondly judging by the way they'd said their 'hellos'.

After welcoming us, she lead us out of the terminal through an almost overpowering wall of heat to a waiting minibus where a man in a peaked cap loaded our luggage while we climbed aboard.

*

Ezeiza International Airport is just outside the city and we bypassed it in air-conditioned comport before heading west towards the distant Andes soon passing into farmland where cattle grazed as far as the eye could see.

At some point I nodded off and awoke as the bus wound its way up a mountain road through a mix of vineyards and coffee plantations until we began to follow a high wall that eventually gave way to a huge steel gateway. I could see a driveway stretching beyond flanked by a wide area of grass and scrub that then gave way to vineyards. A figure in black stood on the other side of the gate and as the bus pulled up another appeared. The men were both Hispanic, well built and suited; both carried automatic rifles. Don Hernan clearly took no chances with security. However, formidable as they appeared, a moment later the electric gates swung open and we drove inside, the black clad security detail waving as we passed.

It was clearly a vast estate and there was no sign of the Hacienda as we climbed steeply through the vineyard I'd seen from the road. Disappointingly there were no herds of pony girls sweeping majestically across the grassland, manes and tales streaming behind them, just a few workers, tending to the vines.

Then we rounded a bend and there they were, a line of carts ahead of us, harnessed ponies trotting between the shafts as they toiled up the steep road. As the bus overtook them we all looked out. The ponies were all dark skinned brunettes, small and pert like our guide though probably a little younger; and were all naked aside from their harnesses, boots and bridles. The harnesses were fashioned in the more modern polo style but more substantial, looking a little like Bryony's training harness but with with heavier shoulder straps running to rings round their breasts and a leather girdle; there was not crotch strap were leaving the girl's sexes exposed and no thigh straps either. Their arms were bound in an arrangement I'd seen in drawings of pony girls but never in photographs; each girl had her arms folded behind her back with her hands touching the opposite shoulder leaving her elbows pointing down towards her bottom, one over the other in the middle of her back; their arms, thus restricted were entirely encased in a triangular leather sheath. They weren't hooded but were bridled in a fairly traditional way, although this appeared mostly for show or, perhaps, discipline as the girls were all pierced and controlled with nipple reins. A couple, I noticed, had a single rein between their thighs too like that seen on a dressage mare.

It is perhaps worth noting at this stage that, unlike the Morrisey piercings of Mares ponies with which, thanks to Bryony, I was intimately acquainted which consisted of a single heavy set vertically just behind the nipple and is used with a nipple bridle; polo ponies usually have triple piercings; a small light ring set horizontally quite for forward in the nipple and two heavier vertical piercings in the areole on either side. In harness, the heavy rings on the inside of the breasts are joined by a short chain that stabilises the arrangement a little like the horizontal bar of the nipple bridle, the outer rings take the weight of the reins; there is then usually a fine chain or, sometimes a rubber strip connecting the outer ring to the small ring in the nipple itself. The constant jostling of the reins which occurs during a polo match is thus absorbed by the outer ring while the link to the small nipple ring provides the fine control needed to manoeuvre a girl in the close quarters combat that is PonyGirl polo. The various stables of the Buenos Aires PonyGirl Polo Club that use nipple reins have their own ways to maintain the sensitivity of their ponies' nipples ranging from the use of plant stings (a little like stinging nettles), through insect venom (the Wasps, not surprisingly, use South American hornets to sting their ponies' nipples before the start of a game), electrical stimulation up to good old fashioned flicking, pinching and biting. (The 'nipple posts' in the stableyard of the Angels are there for precisely this reason and in the build up to a match the ponies endure an hour a day bound to them with a groom assigned to each nipple).

In passing I would also note that genital piercings are not universally used on ponygirls for much the same reasons as they are not used in the racing ponies in Mares-de-Launce; in short they can chaff and affect a girl's performance. When they are inserted it is mostly to control girls who have a habit of running on in defiance of their player's attempts to slow them down either through over-enthusiasm or, in some cases, a fear of the whip.

As we passed, the look of determination in each girl's face was evident, eyes focussed and teeth clamped tightly around the leather bits in her mouth, sweat running down faces and beading on firm, pert breasts. Their athletic prowess was unmistakeable as each girl performed a perfect rising trot in her thigh high leather boots despite pulling the short shafted polo style gig to which she was harnessed up the slope.

Their drivers were very similar to their ponies and, surprisingly, also wore harnesses and boots though not bridles. They all held driving whips in their right hands which they used almost constantly so that the ponies' backs, bottoms and thighs were covered in red welts and bruises.

The leader of the group was slightly different; though harnessed and restrained in the same way she was hooded and sported a horse-head tattoo with blue bridle and plume like Cream's on her right shoulder. He driver wore the colours of Don Hernan's stable, the tight blue leather bolero jacket and tiny shorts that Cream wore when we trained; she wore a hat too, a flat topped brimmed one in the typical Spanish matador style which offered her some protection from the sun.

'This year's potras.' Jacintha told us. 'You will training along with them.'

I saw Bryony glance up at me wide eyed in a mix of excitement and anxiaty then, as we left the group to their training, we rounded a bend revealing Don Hernan's Hacienda, a sprawling building in a Spanish colonial style that commanded views of the surrounding estate and the valley beneath stretching away into the haze of the late morning sun.

*

The bus pulled into the courtyard and we disembarked, again feeling the heat of the day although here in the foothills of the Andes it felt cooler than in the oppressive humidity surrounding the airport.

We were offered drinks on a terrace, iced water and juices and a seat in the shade while our luggage was unloaded. Jacintha waited with us. Then, a few minutes later, another woman in equestrian dress strode into the courtyard followed by a group of six others, three men and three women who were similarly clad though jacketless and carried what were clearly harnesses and bridles. The new arrival was a little older than Jacintha and rather stern looking; and wore riding boots rather than pony boots and black leather riding gloves; she also carried a riding crop. I could tell she was clearly more senior from the way our guide clambered quickly to her feet as the woman entered.

'Welcome to the estate of Don Hernan de Cortez de Medellin.' The new arrival said, addressing us in almost perfect English as her followers fell into line behind her with their burdens. 'I am Juanita Mendez-Garcia, StableMistress of Hacienda de Medellin.'

As she spoke she drew her riding crop across her bottom. 'Don Hernan bids you welcome. Neustra casa es su casa.' She nodded her head in a brief bow her eyes meeting mine and then seeking our Reuben and Charles. 'In a moment, I will have you shown to the guest rooms but first, the ponies will present themselves for harnessing.'

I think we were all a little stunned but Cream was the first to recover, slipping off her dress, kicking off her shoes and tripping forward to drop to her knees in front of the StableMistress.

Juanita cracked a smile and stroked the little blonde's hair.

'Welcome back pretty one.' She said in Spanish, reaching to touch the tattoo on Cream's shoulder.

'Gracias, Senora.'

The-Cat was only a moment behind, as naked as her lover and just as eager.

'Esta es El Gato, Senora.' Cream said. 'Mi cono.'

Senora Mendez-Garcia laughed. 'I like the use you make of pet names for your ponies but I don't think I can call her 'pussy' in front of the stableboys.' She looked round briefly at the row of stablehands behind her and they looked down quickly. 'The-Cat will do.' She smiled. 'And I see you have already prepared her.' She used the whip to tease The-Cat's triple nipple piercings.'

'And where is Latex Dolly?' She looked directly at Bryony.

'That would be me.' Miss Carter peeled off her linen dress revealing some delicious black lacy underwear. 'And it's Rubber Dolly.' She strutted forward undoing her bra and then sliding out of her knickers.

She held the stablemistress' gaze for a moment but then dropped to her knees.

Juanita was clearly not impressed, her face coloured slightly and her mouth became tighter.

'You are a little older than most of our ponies.' The stablemistress said pointedly.

'That's because I'm a mare.' Ms Carter shot with a slight smirk.

The crop struck her across the breasts before any of us had even seen Juanita move.

There was a moment's tense silence.

'Lo siento, Senora.' Miss Carter said. I'm sorry.

The woman bent slightly and took the kneeling mare's chin in her hand, lifting her head to look her in the eyes. If the school teacher and part time fetish goddess was truly magical as village rumours suggested, I could imagine Senora Mendez-Garcia turning into something unpleasant or perhaps just bursting into flames.

Needless to say, it didn't happen.

'I will enjoy training you.' The stablemistress said tensely. 'And you will get no allowance for being...'a mare'.'

'I wouldn't expect any, Mistress.' Miss Carter said with voice that dripped with submission. 'I look forward to receiving your full... attention.'

Despite her severe demeanor, the stablemistress smiled and looked up.

'There are three more.'

Bryony and Pretty Little Thing needed no further prompting, in a moment, both were naked and kneeling side by side.

'I'm Sticky and she is Pretty.' Bryony said way too coyly.

Charles and I both laughed.

I expected the whip to fall but Mistress Juanita apparently saw the funny side too.

'I am loving your sense of humours.' She said pleasantly though the tip of her whip teased the ring piercing Bryony's right nipple in what I thought was a somewhat threatening gesture.

Then the tip of the whip moved to Pretty Little Thing's pink buds. 'A virgin?'

It was Goose's turn to laugh.

'There is one more.' The stablemistress looked at Goose who, somewhat uncharacteristically took a step back.

'Not me.' Goose recovered and pointed to Barbie.

'Now you are teasing me.' Juanita said. 'It must be you.'

'And why not me?' Barbie stepped forward.

'Madam!' Stablemistress Juanita looked suddenly tense. 'Polo is a young woman's sport and, while I admire your zeal, I can tell you that you cannot play.'

For a moment, I imagined a cat-fight.

'Yes.' Barbie's eyes were beginning to tear. 'You're right.'

'If you want to...' Charles stepped forward and put a protective arm round his lover, glaring at the stablemistress.

'No, Charles. She's right. I was out of breath walking up the stairs just now. I've been worried about this and I know I'm not up to it.'

We were over three thousand meters up. I was out of breath climbing the stairs and, despite the fact it was cooler up in the mountains, it was oppressively hot and quite sultry.

Juanita nodded.

'Just five then?' She looked at Goose.

'Solomente cinco!' The Goose said in what sounded to me like very good Spanish. Only five!

'Jacintha!' The stablemistress snapped her fingers and pointed to the floor beside Rubber Dolly.

Jacintha stiffened but only for a moment before shrugging off her jacket.

Then, unselfconsciously and deliberately, she undid her blouse before slipping that off to reveal a firm and very toned body and similarly firm breasts supported in a white sports bra. On her shoulder was a stable tattoo, the first I had seen with a gold ring around the horse's head. I wasn't surprised when she peeled the bra off over her head to expose polo piercings in her nipples.

I'm sure I wasn't the only one watching her enforced striptease.

By the time she bent and unzip her boots, I'm sure she was smiling and, after sliding them off her feet she undid her jodhpurs and slid them down her beautifully toned legs standing for a moment in just a tiny white thong as if she wanted to give us one more thrill of expectation.

'Jacintha!' Juanita barked.

Jacintha quickly slipped out of the thong though, I'd swear she bent forward way more than was necessary. Then she scampered to kneel beside Rubber Dolly.

The message was pretty clear.

Rubber Dolly turned and smiled at her new training partner and Jacintha thrust out her tongue in what I can only describe as a wantonly lascivious gesture. With Jacintha's tongue stud they were apparently a perfect match.

I'd love to be a fly on the wall in that stable.

Mistress Juanita clapped her hands and the six stablehands stepped forward to harness the new ponies.

*

The harnesses were similar to the ones we'd seen the girls in training wearing though didn't appear as thick and so presumably weren't weighted. The stablehands spent some time adjusting the straps, several across each girl's shoulders and then around her waist, ensuring they were a perfect fit and buckles neatly aligned.

'They will be wearing them for the duration of their time in the stables.' Juanita told us as she walked up and down the line of kneeling ponies inspecting the work of her stablehands. 'It is important they fit correctly to prevent chaffing. The harness must be snug, a girl must be constantly aware that she is wearing it; reminded of the need for obedience.'

She tapped the whip against her gloved palm.

After the harnesses been tightened around the kneeling girls' bodies and locked at strategic points by small padlocks, I was able to watch how the triangular armbinders worked. Firstly the girls' hands were placed in leather mitts that were strapped around the wrist and, as with the harnesses, locked in place with small padlocks; then the tips of the mitts were drawn up to the girls' shoulders and fastened to the shoulder straps of the harness. Then the triangular leather sheath was slid up over the girls's elbows, locked and fastened to the harness.

'Out of sight out of mind!' Juanita said idly. 'A good pony should almost forget how to use her hands.'

Bridles came next.

There's something beautiful about watching a woman being gagged, especially a submissive one; seeing her open her mouth eagerly or, perhaps nervously, knowing it will deprive her of the power of speech, applying another level of bondage to her helpless body; amplifying her submission. Watching all six of them take the bit one after the other was an almost sublime experience; lips parting submissively as they looked up at the stablehand standing above, meekly taking the thick black leather bar between their teeth, closing their lips a little around it, exploring it with their tongues.

Pretty Little Thing was the first one to drool.

I'd swear the little minx did it on purpose because when I looked at Goose her hand was gently rubbing her crotch and her erect nipples were clearly visible through her soft pink blouse.

Then, when the bridles had been tightened and adjusted, came the boots; thigh high black leather, cut to follow the curve of the calf and tapering of the thigh but clearly reinforced at the joints.

'These are training boots.' Juanita explained. 'They are only partially weighted and lightly sprung. They require a degree of... effort to use.'

Finally, with the six newly harnessed and bridled ponies standing somewhat unsteadily in the unfamiliar boots and rendered helpless in their new tack, reins were clipped to bridles or nipple rings and they were lead away towards the stables.

Only Bryony looked back, giving me a beaming smile and then a sexy wink.

I hoped she'd have fun but perhaps not too much without me.

*

CHAPTER 9: PONYGIRL POLO

*

Somewhat disappointingly, we weren't taken to the stables to see what was to happen to our ponies but, as guests of Don Hernan, were shown to our rooms in the guest wing before being offered a buffet style lunch consisting largely of steak and then invited to take a siesta. Though I was eager to explore, I got the distinct impression we were expected to wait upon our host and thus made my way back to the room for a sleep.

I'd just dozed off when I was awoken by shouts outside the window. I ignored the first few but then intrigued got up and went to look out.

There was some sort of polo match underway; eight girls harnessed to buggies, eight others driving them with whips; the ponies wore standard polo harnesses with the triangular sleeves pinning their arms behind their backs and pony boots leaving them exposed to the whip from half way down their backs to the middle of their thighs, all were hooded and guided by reins clipped to their nipples; their lithe, toned bodies performing obediently and perfectly to the commands, both unspoken and shouted by their players. I could tell at a glance these women were superb athletes, the way they carried themselves, the way they moved; their acceleration as the whip urged them on, their agility as the reins drew them into turns.

I soon realised it was a training session, not a match; though they appeared to face each other, two teams of four (or, perhaps eight) they were clearly practicing set moves, one team manoeuvring and passing, the other trying to intercept.

Whatever Don Hernan expected of his guests, I couldn't let this opportunity pass. I looked at the groom's outfit I'd been given and considered wearing this but decided to dress in my own clothes then raced down the stairs to have a closer look.

Finding my way out of a side door, I hurried across the field towards the action, watching excitedly as the teams returned to their starting positions in preparation for another pass. Up close, it was even more spectacular; Cream had shown me a few videos on line but nothing could have prepared me for the sheer adrenaline rush of watching these athletes clash head to head; of the drivers poised in their gigs, focussed, intense, wielding whips and reins in gloved hands, shouting to their ponies, urging them on; of whips falling on bare flesh and leather tugging urgently at gleaming nipple rings; sweat glistening bodies straining in harness; the rumble of wheels, the clash of gigs.

The ponies and drivers all bore the same tattoo as Cream, the black horse's head with the blue bridle and plume, the mark of the second team.

Now, I really wanted to see the firsts.

Beside the pitch a blue jacketed figure called instructions and several other trainers or grooms or whatever they were ran among the ponies and players watching their performance. These were clad similarly to the coach though they had shed their jackets and ran in their shirtsleeves; a mix of both men and woman; like the coach, they wore pony boots.

The pass finished and the pitchside coach called them over; the players guided their ponies towards her and the assistant coaches jogged beside them. Several of them noticed me, for the first time, I think, and the head coach turned towards me. She was a striking woman, taller than most of the ponies around her, muscular, presumably once a pony herself but now older, perhaps in her late thirties or even early forties; she was attractive too, and would have been more so if her right eye was not covered by a black patch and there had not been a ragged scar down her right cheek.

She fixed her single dark eye intently on me, the boots making her slightly taller, and hefted her whip in a similar way that I had seen Juanita do.

I hastily explained who I was in my best schoolboy Spanish.

'Ah, the English team.' She gave a slightly derogatory laugh. 'Come to see how the game is really played.'

'Si, Senora.' I replied, relieved that I had been understood.

There was a slightly nervous laugh from the assembled players who, as they had arrived at this 'team huddle' had dismounted their gigs and were standing by their ponies, holding them by the reins where they attached to the nipple rings. Riders and ponies all wore pony boots which came up to the thigh. A few of the ponies murmured around their bridles and shook their heads and one or two of the players whispered to their mounts.

Clearly satisfied that I wasn't a spy in the camp, or at least, not one who posed any threat, the coach turned back to her team, haranguing them in a torrent of Spanish that was beyond my ability to follow but I did pick up something about footwork directed at a tall, slender pony called Marianna to my right and something about keeping a tighter rein to the left directed at her driver. However, most of the coach's wrath was directed at Ximena and her pony, Valeria, who were called forward.

'Se quite!' She snapped at the player who, wide eyed, immediately shed her leather bolero jacket and holding it behind her back as she thrust her breasts forwards. Her nipples were pierced just like those of her pony.

The one-eyed coach launched into another tirade and, as she spoke, brought the whip down repeatedly on the breasts of both girls, pony and player, who stood firm, the player staring forward dispassionately enduring both their coach's physical and verbal assault. The other players kept their gazes into the middle distance though they clearly were all watching the reprimand from the corner of their eyes; the hooded ponies rocked nervously on their toes.

*

When the punishment was over the players and ponies went back to practice, the chastened player remaining bare breasted. However, she was only the first to suffer the coach's wrath and an hour later three girls were topless, their breasts as liberally decorated with welts as the bodies of their toiling ponies.

Ximena and Valeria seemed to be having a particularly bad afternoon.

Sadly, I couldn't see this form of discipline catching on in more conventional sporting circles.

The Goose joined me some time later as a fourth player and her unfortunate pony were being chastised.

'Skins verses shirts?' The blonde asked with a rueful smile.

I chuckled. I'd been thinking the same thing.

Goose had taken the time to dress in the outfit she'd been given. It looked rather good on her, the white blouse stretched over her large breasts and the jodhpurs hugging her toned legs and bottom. Her hair hung loose, moving slightly in the breeze. She looked as if she felt right at home here.

She made some comment in Spanish for the benefit of the coach.

'You think I am unnecessarily harsh?' The coach said in slightly accented English, taking her eyes off the players for a moment.

I shrugged. 'I'm sure you know what you are doing.' Several times, I'd not been sure what the girls were being whipped for. Sometimes, the player dropped the ball or the pony was a little out of position and the coach just smiled and made them repeat the move; other times, everything looked fine but a player and her pony were whipped.

'Everything must be right.' The coach explained. 'Mind and body... focussed. Polo is a dangerous sport... the pony must be utterly obedient, the player utterly focussed, confident...'

They went at it again, the coach directing Ximena and Valeria to the hustler position to intercept and win the ball.

We watched closely as Ximena drove Valeria at another pair but where before I had seen other girls come too close and collide, Ximena steered Valeria too wide and missed the tackle completely nearly colliding with another player.

The coach blew her whistle in frustration and called them over again.

'Carmen!' She called to another of the players who drover her pony over towards the coach. Carmen was a typical Latina, dressed like the other players (those still clothed, at least) but had a blue collar around her neck; it looked shiny; metallic or perhaps enamel. 'Take them up to the Hacienda and tell StableMistress Mendez-Garcia that they need punishment, then exercise Camilla, she has been stabled all day and I don't want her getting out of condition.'

'Si, Senora Valentina.' Carmen said. She flicked the whip and wheeled her sweating pony. 'Come along, you two.'

Then she turned towards the Hacienda with Ximena and Valeria beside her.

For the others, the practice continued for at least another two grueling hours by which time the ponies looked exhausted, lifting tired legs as they dragged the chariots with increasing effort to complete the moves under the direction of their drivers. However, no quarter was given and buttocks and thighs were lashed repeatedly. Several times ponies stumbled and at one stage, one fell as she completed a tight turn, her legs buckling under her; she earned the whip of her player as she struggled to her feet but not the retribution of the coach.

They were still training when a stableboy came for Goose and me, asking us to come to the stables to begin training.

*

'So, you gonna get fitted for a pair of those boots?' Goose asked me as we followed the stableboy around the side of the hacienda towards the stables.

'I don't think so.' I responded rather coldly.

'It wouldn't help you to get between the shafts, you know.' Goose told me. 'We've all done it. Well, I've done it.'

'No!'

'I'm just saying.' She persisted. 'It's how they train them here; pair them up, make them swap roles; get them thinking like each other.'

I was saved from a lecture on teamwork and a potential argument with Goose by our arrival at the stable yard.

It was a little like yard at Goose's place, but bare baked earth rather than concrete and there were stalls on three sides with an office and store rooms on the other. In the centre, somewhat ominously were two wooden blocks; mounting blocks presumably from when the stable had four legged horses; and two posts set so they sloped apart. Chained to these with their wrists above their heads were Ximena and Valeria. The girls were still booted but Valeria's harness and hood had been removed; Ximena was otherwise naked.

That both had been soundly whipped was obvious from the marks on their breasts and inner thighs; more so in the case of the player who like her pony had fresh red welts across her shoulders buttocks and back although these overlay older bruises that clearly had a similar origin.

However, Ximena and Valerie were not the only ponies in the yard.

Bryony and Pretty Little Thing were there, harnessed side by side to a double chariot; standing beside The-Cat and Cream, a player in full colours holding their reins. Facing them was Rubber Dolly alongside Jacintha; Juanita mounted behind them, still in her blouse and jodhpurs, addressing them.

Our ponies had clearly already been put through their paces and their fatigue was evident in their faces; a sheen of sweat covered their now noticeably pale skins and their harnesses were soaked with it. It appeared no quarter was being given for the altitude or any jet-lag they might be feeling. Though still harnessed and bridled, they made a rather unglamourous sight as they stood, covered in dust and dirt, mud on their boots, their hair hanging limp and wet about their shoulders. They had clearly endured the whip harshly and all of them had markings like dressage ponies after an event. However, when she looked at me, I could see in Bryony's eyes a look of grim satisfaction, triumph even, and undaunted spirit that, when I looked, shone in all of them.

Reuben was already there and as Goose and I entered, Juanita shook her reins and wheeled a tired Rubber Dolly and Jacintha towards us. They were clearly too slow for the strict stablemistress and a lash of the whip cut across Rubber Dolly's flank, closely followed by a strike to Jacintha's buttocks. The two ponies lifted their legs in response, tired muscles straining. I noticed that Rubber Dolly's left ankle was cuffed by a short strap to Jacintha's right and, when I looked at the other pairs, I saw the same they were thus forced to run in step albeit with the opposite leg.

'You're late, Juanita.' Told us, her eyes flicking towards the two punished girls in the centre of the yard perhaps implying that the Goose and I might replace them. 'And you.' She looked at me. 'Are improperly dressed.'

I realised I was still wearing my own clothes.

'We're sorry.' Goose said in Spanish. 'Mistress.' She added after a moment.

I looked at her but she focussed her gaze on Juanita, head up, perhaps challenging her to carry out her unspoken threat.

'Get to your chariot.' Juanita told her gesturing towards Bryony and PLT.

I watched Goose with a little envy as she walked towards her pet and my fiancee. We'd flipped a coin for who had got the two village girls. I'd lost.

'Come on Englishman.' Juanita smiled thinly. 'You are a famous sports coach in England, I think.'

'I've had my successes.' I said modestly.

Juanita frowned and shook her head. 'Then let us show you if you can train Argentine ponies.'

She wheeled her chariot, again whipping Rubber Dolly who seemed to have required more encouragement than her fellow pony or, perhaps, it was because she was the right hand one of the pair and therefore easier to whip. I wondered if this had been something to do with their earlier exchange and the comment about being a 'mare'; the lovely brunette's back was covered in weals from just below her pinned elbows to the top of her boots.

I followed on foot. I might be Don Hernan's guest but it was clear I was now in StableMistress Jaunita's stable.

There were benefits to my position though; Juanita had a lovely tight bottom and a slim waist and she was wearing shiny black boots; more importantly, however, I had a gorgeous view of the two ponies she drove. I always liked the idea of matching ponies and had developed a fantasy about finding another pert redhead to run with Bryony but the contrast between Rubber Dolly's alabaster skin and lustrous dark hair with the deep tan of Jacintha and her dyed blonde hair was rather delicious; other than this they were well balanced, similar heights and similar builds, both a little more buxom than the average racing mare and the way they moved in unison, obedient despite their obvious exhaustion sent a delicious shiver of pleasure through me at the thought of driving or even owning such a pair.

*

My pair were, by contrast, matching in almost every way; to my eye, they could have been sisters; small, pert bodies tightly strapped into harnesses that dimpled their dusky flesh; their small breasts, thrust forwards by the tight bondage of their arms and shoulders, bulging through steel rings. They regarded me with exotic dark eyes over the straps of their bridles, their white teeth bared around the thick leather bits that filled their mouths clamped down by the tight straps under their chins; each of them had a long lustrous mane of black hair.

The stablehand holding them firmly by the nipple reins introduced them as Shiraz and Helena.

I suppose I should have noticed; the sly smile of the groom, and the brief exchange in rapid Spanish with his stabelmistress, the way he handed me a riding crop as well as the driving whip exhorting in broken English to 'use them much'; I should probably have noticed the ponies' stances, slack and casually at rest between the shafts rather than the eager demeanor of the other girls and, when I thought about it, the sullen challenging looks in the girls' eyes.

I should definitely have noticed the tails or, rather understood the significance of them.

However, I was so excited by the prospect of driving this sultry pair of beauties, I missed all these things, enjoying only the sight of their bare harnessed flesh, the beautiful tight triangular sheaths constraining their bound arms and pulling their shoulders back, their tight bottoms and strong thighs tapering to rounded calves and then the flare of the boots that were strapped to their feet.

So I climbed aboard my chariot, slid the crop into my belt, and took up the reins, excited by the thought that they were clipped to the pierced nipples of two exotic ponygirls and I would soon be using them to guide my lovely Hispanic ponies as I used the whip to drive them on.

*

CHAPTER 10: HELLCATS

*

It was only just before we started off that Juanita ceded control of Rubber Dolly and Jacintha to Reuben and, I got the impression she did it reluctantly. The lovely Miss Carter was in for a hell of a holiday. As a replacement, a stablegirl brought the stablemistress an unusual looking gig pulled, to my surprise not by a pony girl but a pony boy.

He was hooded, so I couldn't see his face but a black ponytail emerged from the back of the hood and his skin tone suggested he was Hispanic. He wore a heavy harness with straps across his shoulders that met at a ring in the centre of his chest and between his shoulderblades; from these, a single strap went down to a thick waist belt; the harness had a crotch strap too, unusual in a ponygirl harness apparently because of chaffing. The crotch strap had a ring at the front for his cock and balls, which were pulled through it, his cock enclosed in a leather sheath held in place by series of straps around his balls that lifted and exposed them making him rather vulnerable; his shaft was then strapped vertically to the crotchstrap of his harness. There was a ring was at the back of the crotch strap for his tail. His arms were strapped behind his back in a more conventional heavy duty single sleeve. Aside from this he wore typical pony boots like the stablehands and a bridle. He was unpierced and his reins were clipped to the end of his bit.

I wasn't surprised to find Goose pulling up beside me.

'Nice bit of horseflesh.' She opined pointing at the pony boy with her whip. 'Are you sure you don't fancy a go, Mike?'

The image of the pony boy was striking and I must admit there was a small part of me that wouldn't mind trying, for the right driver. I recalled Miss Carter's words about denying myself the full gamut of pleasure by not exploring my submissive side.

'Of course, if you were mine, I'd have your nipples pierced like a proper pony.' Goose continued as Juanita climbed onto the gig which was little more than a frame: wheels on a axle and two shafts to which the ponyboy was fastened; although there was nothing to hold onto, she seemed to maintain her balance easily.

The stablemistress flicked her whip and the ponyboy started forwards.

We followed, Juanita leading the way with her fresh young ponyboy followed by Reuben whipping his tired pair to the trot and Goose behind with Bryony and Pretty Little thing. It was only as they clattered out of the stableyard that I realised something was wrong. I shook the reins and called to them as I'd seen was customary here, flicking the whip across Shiraz's buttocks to set them to the trot. They barely moved though Shiraz took a small step forward as the whip struck her bottom.

I delivered a second stroke and one to Helena too managing to get them to a shambling walk.

The stableboy who'd been holding them brought his gig alongside; he was driving The-Cat and Cream..

'Whip!' He exhorted. 'Hard!'

He drove his ponies forward, they were both, hooded and restrained in a standard polo harnesses responding obediently, eagerly even, to the reins and the whip. The stableboy leaned over and whipped both of my ponies shouting at them in Spanish and bringing them to something resembling a trot.

I flicked my whip at them again, catching both girls on the buttocks, Helena's tail dancing where I caught it.

'Keep the whipping.' The stableboy called back as he urged The-Cat and Cream to the canter to catch the others.

I did as he bid, shouting at them in a mix of Spanish and English as I rained blows down on them. Eventually, they seemed to get the message and I drove them through the gate at something approaching a canter to see Goose driving Bryony and PLT some twenty yards ahead with the stableboy just behind her.

Then it happened. Shiraz planted her left foot wide and Helena tripped over it, stumbling in harness and falling to her knees, partly supported by her fellow pony. I leapt down from the chariot concerned that Helena was injured wondering how Shiraz could have been so clumsy. Helena glowered up at me with an angry expression and I was suddenly concerned I'd done something wrong. I helped her to her feet asking her in Spanish if she was hurt but got no response then, suddenly, she turned towards her partner as far as the harness would allow and began screaming around her bridle, swinging her booted feet and kicking Shiraz in the shins.

Shiraz turned and responded in kind.

I stood for a moment I stood pulling ineffectually on their bridles but they were harnessed side by side and there was no way to separate them. Glancing over my shoulder, I could see the others disappearing over the edge of the hill, that dropped down towards where the second team had been playing.

It was up to me to deal with this pair of spitting, snarling she-cats. It was at that moment I remembered the crop in my boot. I drew it and, pulling Shiraz's reins with my left hand to try to turn her away from the partner I struck her hard on the breast with the whip. She stilled a little and I struck her again. Helena's tirade continued. It was just as well the boots were reinforced and padded. After another fierce blow to Shiraz's breasts I turned the crop on Helena's.

The Spanish I'd learnt in school hadn't covered disciplining volatile ponygirls but I did my best managing to convey that they were 'naughty girls' even if I'd rather have told them they were the spawn of Satan.

'I will punish you both later.' I told them as they calmed down though they were still glaring angrily at each other over their bridles, slips drawn back around their bits, nostrils flaring. I hoped it was a threat I could carry out but given the set up with ponies kept naked and in bondage and the free use of the whip, I guessed it wouldn't be too difficult.

Then, I gave them a final blow each ensuring I caught at least one nipple on each girl and climbed back into my gig as Juanita appeared over the hill.

'Is everything alright, Michael?' She called in what I think was a rather amused tone.

'Fine.' I called back angrily. 'Helena stumbled and I was just admonishing her for her clumsiness.'

Juanita drove her lovely docile pony boy towards me looking down at the ponies who now stood still and, I thought, rather meekly.

'And, Shiraz?' Juanita said looking down. 'You have 'admonished' her too?'

'It seemed only fair.' I lied. 'I am hoping that you will let me chastise them both properly later.'

Juanita smiled. 'I'm sure a good pussy-whipping will teach them the value of obedience.' Then she turned her gig around and whipped her ponyboy to the canter to catch the others. I followed, my ponies responding a little more cooperatively this time.

Whether it was the beating I'd given them and the threat of more punishment or the fact that Stablemistress Mendez-Garcia hung back to keep an eye on them, my ponies gave me little more trouble and as we cantered through a section of woodland beyond the training field and I once again felt the thrill of driving harnessed pony girls. Sullen and uncooperative they might be but they were also feisty and when put under the whip they responded with the acceleration of trained athletes so that when I took them to the gallop the effect was exhilarating and we easily gained ground the tired mares.

As we emerged from the trees, slowing to a canter another pony and driver joined us; the girl between the shafts appeared fair-skinned compared to the native ponies and a blonde mane danced behind her hood as she ran, driven by a Hispanic man wearing a blue riding jacket and jodhpurs; he stood on a gig like Junaita's, little more than an axle and wheels, perfectly balanced flicking the whip neatly at his galloping pony who seemed to pull him effortlessly up the slight incline. The pony was strapped tightly into a blue leather harness, complete with crotch strap, that was highly decorated with gold that looked like braided rope, her arms tightly sheathed in the traditional manner, forearms pressed together; the sheath and her boots were also made of blue leather; a blonde tail fluttered behind her bottom. With her long stride, she reminded me of Fawn, the blonde mare who had been Mare's Day race champion before Bryony took her title (with a little help from your's truly) and, for a moment, I considered the possibility it might even be her; she had disappeared a few days after her defeat. However, this mare had considerably larger breasts, obviously enhanced like Barbie's so unless the athlete had undergone a considerable transformation, I suspected it wasn't Helen Dorsman.

The rider guided his pony skillfully alongside Juanita and they spoke to each other briefly before he turned and waved to me and spurred his pony to the gallop leaving us behind. He nodded courteously to Goose as he passed her and then pulled alongside the stableboy driving The-Cat and Cream. I watched them exchange a few words and then the driver pulled forward and used his whip on Cream's bottom before turning back up towards the house.

'Don Hernan.' Juanita told me, dropping back beside me. 'He has invited you and the other visiting players to dinner tonight.'

'And the ponies?'

Juanita gave me a look of disdain. 'They will be stabled as they should be.'

It sounded as if Bryony would be getting the full submissive treatment.

'And Don Hernan's pony?'

She smiled slightly.

'One of his mistresses, Helga. I expect she will be there. She is certainly his favourite at the moment but I think he has a fondness for Cream too.' She laughed at her own joke and whipped her ponyboy. 'Home James, and do not spare the horses!'

Though I used the whip, I could only watch as she pulled away.

*

I managed to get back to the stables without incident but as I pulled them to a halt in the yard, Helena and Shiraz turned to glare at each other moving apart as far as their harnesses would allow. I jumped from the chariot and marched round to stand in front of them holding the whip up before them and trying to think what else I could do to keep them under control.

I vaguely knew what to say, I'd done enough school athletics classes to know how to handle a stroppy teenager though the most I'd even been able to threaten them with was a couple of laps of the field or a note to their parents. Helena and Shiraz might not be teenagers but they were certainly behaving that way.

Fortunately, Reuben came to my rescue, leading Rubber Dolly and Jacintha.

'Would it help if I translated?'

'Tell them I'm fucking annoyed with their behavour.' I ranted. 'That they will be punished. That I will not tolerate ill discipline.'

Reuben translated and the stableboy appeared at my side.

Reuben translated for him too.

'He is asking how you would like them prepared for punishment.'

'I plan to whip them soundly.' I told him.

'He is asking what position.' Reuben said. 'Breasts, backs, bare feet? Or do you wish them suspended for a...'pussy whipping'.'

'Back and buttocks will be fine.' I'd already whipped their breasts. Juanita had suggested a pussy whipping but I thought I might keep that in reserve. Bryony is pretty submissive and, I think, actually enjoys being whipped in harness but even she gets stroppy if I catch her pussy with the whip by mistake.

The stableboy appeared unimpressed by my choice, nevertheless, he helped me unhitch them from the gig and then lead them towards the whipping posts where Ximena and Valeria were still chained. The pair had moved round the slanting posts so that they lay on them, rather nonchalantly, I thought, one knee raised. They looked more like whores selling their wares than chastised ponies.

Helena and Shiraz were guided to the mounting blocks where the stableboy released them one by one from the shafts and bent them over the mounting blocks before pulling a strap across each of their backs to hold them in place.

Juanita appeared beside me holding a heavy looking wooden paddle. She still trailed her pony boy on his reins.

'I think a pussy whipping would have been better but they are your property for now.' She passed me the paddle. 'Make sure their bottoms glow.'

*

I have struggled to punish Bryony sometimes, there is a part of me that dislikes hurting her (at least when she'd not toiling away in harness) but this was a different situation. I'm used to instilling discipline in my charges, albeit not usually with the whip. Not only did these two need a firm hand, they had embarrassed me in front of Juanita.

I hefted the paddle and touched it lightly to Shiraz's bottom.

'Conte! I said.

Then I brought the paddle down hard on her tight round bottom.

Shiraz flinched slightly but said nothing.

'Remove her bridle.' I said to the stableboy.

He did.

'Conte!' I repeated.

It took four blows before she finally relented and, for a moment, I thought I might be about to lose the battle of wills. However, I finally heard a faint 'Cuatro'.

'From the beginning.' I said. 'Commence a uno..'

After two more she obeyed.

Her bottom was already glowing red.

'Mas fuerte!' I said. Louder!

'Uno.'

'Mas, fuerte!' I struck her again.

'Uno.'

'Uno, Senor!'

'Uno, Senor!' She echoed as I brought the paddle down again.

'Dos.'

Her voice was strained by six so I stopped at eight.

I think I got a nod of approval from the stablemistress who stood in front of the girls holding her hooded, harnessed ponyboy by the bridle.

Then I moved on to Helena.

She was quicker to respond, needing only once to be told to speak more loudly and when she'd taken a dozen, she mumbled a 'Gracias, Senor' along with Shiraz.

I handed the paddle to the stableboy and turned to find I had attracted quite an audience; grooms watching and ponies leaning over stable doors.

I was pleased to see Bryony watching me too. She looked exhausted but there was a hungry look in her eyes and she was rubbing her thighs together as she stood, still harnessed beside Pretty Little Thing.

Reuben smiled at me as he stood beside Rubber Dolly, hand resting gently on her bottom.

Even Goose seemed impressed.

*

CHAPTER 11: STRICTLY CUM DANCING

*

The ponies were stabled; Shiraz and Helena or 'SheFury' and 'HellCat' as I quickly renamed them in my mind, chained in their stall, arms still strapped tightly into the training sleeves and ankles locked together in hobbles; at the suggestion of the stablegirl dispatched to help me, I chained them to the central ring of the stall, joining them by their nipple rings; if one moved too far, the other would have to move too.

'I am hoping it will teach them cooperation, Senor.' The stablegirl said.

'Perhaps.' I wasn't convinced.

She was a pretty little thing and I wondered if she spent much time in harness. From the way she handled my two wayward ponies, she clearly had a dominant streak despite her petite size and obvious youth.

'Do you have many ponies like these two?' I asked trying to engage her in conversation.

'Sometime women have their needs.' She said in a rather sexy Hispanic accent. 'These two needs the same stableboy.' She gestured to where Juanita still lead her harnessed, bridled ponyboy around the yard as she checked on the other ponies.

The second team had finally come back from their practice under the watchful eye of their coach and the ponies were being released from between the shafts of their gigs. A few of the players were massaging their pony's legs.

'And ponyboys.' I asked. 'Are there many of them?'

She shrugged. 'Not really. Some like them.' She looked at Juanita who was talking to the coach with the eyepatch. 'There are some men like it too... to be ponyboys, I mean... but I think we are not like in England. In Argentina it is women who must to know their place. It is in our culture. Ponygirls are prized... coveted. Now the sport is becoming big business. Many girls want to be pony and many men want pretty pony...' She laughed. 'Ponyboys are just for fun... or for punishment.'

She turned and looked at me very cutely with a dimpled smile that presumably broke hearts at every hacienda between here and Buenos Aires. 'But you can try if you are liking, Senor.'

The invitation reminded me of Justin and what he and the Goose might have been getting up to. It also reminded me of Rubber Dolly's comments after the polo match in the pub on the night of the Dryad's Feast.

Everybody seemed keen to offer me the opportunity to become a pony.

The thought helped me to stand my ground; there had been a moment when I'd first met Bryony that I thought I might like to be her ponyboy once in a while but then I'd got used to the dominant role, even if couldn't always manage it to her satisfaction.

*

Dinner was a fairly grand affair and I felt slightly shabby despite bringing my best suit.

However, if Don Hernan noticed, he was too polite to say so when he introduced himself to me and welcomed me to his 'humble abode'. He introduced me to his lovely blonde pony too; the girl I'd seen earlier pulling his gig. Even out of harness, she was striking with piercing blue eyes luscious plump lips to add to her slim figure and voluptuous breasts. I wasn't the least but surprised when she told me she'd been a model before meeting Don Hernan. Overall, she gave the impression of a younger and prettier version of Barbie in her blue silk dress that was almost classical in style. She had a little silver collar around her neck that was clearly locked in place; a little ring dangled from the front; she had matching bracelets on her wrists.

It was clear Don Hernan enjoyed something of the lifestyle one might associate with pony girls.

Current favourite Helga might be but when Goose followed me in wearing an off the shoulder number in chiffon (pink of course) Don Hernan's eye turned immediately to the new arrival. The Goose may not be the prettiest girl in the village but she is slim and blonde and has a body that many girls would die for. I couldn't help thinking that driving her and Helga, these two statuesque blondes, six feet tall in their heels, side by side as a matching pair would be many a stable-lad's wet dream. Goose had her hair up and decorated with pearls and there was a pearl choker around her slender neck. She was wearing a lot more make up than usual including a soft pink lipstick that, I'm sure, was the same as the one on Justin's neck and collar when I'd picked him up the morning after Dryad's day. The dress had a plunging neckline and a very long slit up the side and, if she was wearing underwear, I couldn't see any evidence of it.

The Goose was a woman who scrubbed up well and she was doing it on five inch heels.

Accepting a glass of champagne, from a young waitress, dressed something like a footman in blue frock coat and breeches, I watched Don Hernan take the Goose's hand and brush his lips over her knuckles before taking her onto his arm and leaning in to whisper something to her. The Goose's eyes lit up and she looked towards me laughing, replying to her host in his native tongue.

Like Reuben, The Goose it appeared, spoke fluent Spanish; of course she bloody did! I just hoped Charles and Barbie were as incompetent as me or it might turn into a very long evening.

Helga came to my rescue, speaking English albeit with the expected German accent, telling me she'd come over for a season's polo (the better known version with four legged horses) a few years ago and heard about the rather saucier underground game involving two legged ponies. She'd played a season as a pony for one of the other teams, 'Las Chicas' before meeting Don Hernan at a tournament.

Ponygirl polo had, it seemed, been around since the time of the Spanish empire, usually played with native girls in harness but with the collapse of the empire it had largely been forgotten until in the nineteen twenties a small group of Dons had set up a series underground tournaments. The sport had remained underground until about ten years ago when, for some reason it had gained popularity, perhaps as a result of internet clips which had slipped out from these secret tournaments and reached mainstream culture.

Don Hernan had, she told me, seen a gap in the market and been one instigators in the game's development from seedy backstreet sport to a rising phenomenon that was beginning to attract crowds in the tens of thousands. He was president of Buenos Aires PonyGirl Polo Club, the organisation to which the competing stables belonged.

*

I was pleased to see Barbie at dinner although she did not look entirely comfortable, especially in the presence of Juanita. Don Hernan, however, made a point of entertaining her and, at one point resembled a peacock as he strutted round with Barbie on one arm and Goose on the other. When we sat down to dine, he insisted Barbie sit beside him where he engaged her and Charles in a constant stream of conversation so that by the time the meal was over her eyes were shining and she was back to the role of saucy matriarch that she liked to inhabit in the village. A request to Charles as the port was handed round that he, Don Hernan, might borrow Charles' lovely blonde mare for a trot round the grounds in the morning sealed our hosts position in her mind as a gentleman and earned him a place in her heart.

Charles seemed entirely happy with the arrangement when Don Hernan offered the use of Helga in return.

Then we got down to business.

Don Hernan wanted to know more about our 'stable' and, from the way her spoke, I think Whipped Cream had probably 'bigged us up' for want of a better expression; especially when he asked us about joining the Club. Goose told him we were still in the early stages of training and explained about the annual 'Mares Race', introducing me as coach and driver of the winning mare. Don Hernan listened intently and expressed his hope that we would enjoy our stay and to treat his house as our house. In return, he asked little more than I give my opinion on his training methods and that our squad join him at the next major game on New Year's Eve in Buenos Aires. A little international interest would do wonders for publicity he told us. The conversation finished with an exhortation to come up with a team name and, perhaps, before leaving to play a friendly match against some of the new 'potras' and a few of his less experienced seconds.

*

After dinner there was dancing accompanied by Spanish guitar. We watched several tangos danced by slim senoritas in tight black leather skirts and dresses that carried more than just a nod to the Hacienda's S&M leanings with overt flashes of stocking tops, stiff nipples straining against white blouses and whips instead of roses between the teeth. The girl who followed, dancing the rumba (I watch 'Strictly...', I know my paso from my quickstep!)was a little more buxom, a luscious brunette with huge eyes that almost certainly came from Moorish ancestry and clothes that cast her very much in the role of the luscious slave girl; swirling silks tied to her large gold nipple rings, gold ankle and wrist cuffs and, of course, a collar. She danced in a way that was so impossibly submissive it made me think if the Gor books I used to read when bondage was just a fantasy; and when her 'master' drew her in with his whip after teasing her with his cape in the pasa-doble I thought he might bind her and use her on the spot.

After that, she danced with one of the leather-clad tango girls. I'm a great fan of hot lesbian sex, particularly with an S&M flavour and this was about as close as a couple of girls could get to it with their clothes on. It was certainly nothing you'd see on 'Strictly...'. I must have been very absorbed because I suddenly found Don Hernan at my side.

'You like her, Senor Michael?' He asked with a flash of white teeth.

I nodded not trusting myself to answer without giving away the fact that my cock with rigid under the table.

'I shall have her sent to your room later.' He nudged me and winked.

'Oh, Don Hernan... no, I couldn't...'

He fixed me with a stern glare.

'Senor. I do not think that pretty little redhead pony you drive will show any reluctance to share her favours. I think even now in the stables she is parting her thighs for one of the stableboys or using her tongue on one of the girls.' He nudged me again. 'I understand are to marry soon.' He smiled at my surprise and winked in a way that suggested he knew rather a lot about our group. 'A man should take advantage of all opportunities in life.'

I sighed and then raised my glass in thanks.

It would be rude to say 'no' to such a generous host.

'And later this week, we will discuss training techniques.' He smiled again. 'I think I have much to learn from you.'

I was flattered.

I was also, I realised, quite drunk.

*

A short while later after another similarly erotic dance, Barbie and Charles began making excuses and I took the opportunity to say goodnight wondering if our host had made offers of dancing girls to Reuben and Goose too. It was at that moment that I looked around and realised that both of them had gone.

Swaying slightly I went out towards the stables with the intention of ensuring Bryony was alright. I suspected she was in her element, chained up in a stable like some fantasy slave girl but I wanted to see her anyway.

Speaking a foreign language always seems easier when you've had a few drinks and I managed to make the groom on duty understand what I wanted. There was, after all, only one English redhead in the stable.

He shrugged and lead me to Bryony's stall.

She'd been stabled with Pretty Little Thing and the two girls lay in the centre of the stall illuminated by the groom's lamp. Both were naked and both still wearing their triangular polo sleeves and harnesses; they were wearing their pony boots too; it was clear that Juanita's comments about wearing them constantly were correct; at least for new ponies; perhaps after a while they would forget how to use their hands. Their ankles were cuffed in simple leather hobbles that someone who could use their hands could easily undo. Lengths of gleaming chain ran to a heavy ring int the centre of the floor like the one in Helena and Shiraz' stall. PLT was chained to it by her pink steel collar and Bryony by her nipple piercings. Bryony unmistakeable with her mass of red hair and pale skin lay with her back to me and I could see the sweet curve of her body, the slim kink of her waist stretching into the lovely curve of her bottom and trim thigh lifted, legs parted; and there between her thighs was Pretty Little Thing's mouth, her tongue lapping eagerly at Bryony's sex. As I watched I heard Bryony moan and lift her leg further, adjusting her position to allow the little blonde to apply her tongue even more intimately; then she flexed neck, her hair trailing over PLT's open thighs as she buried her face in her fellow pony's snatch. Both girls were so intent on their love-making that they didn't notice me and soon they were moaning in unison, both clearly approaching orgasm.

I looked at the groom who grinned back.

'I have them sent your room?' He asked. 'You like?'

I saw Pretty Little Thing look up, a flash of clear blue eyes but with the lamp between us and the stable door I doubted she could see much; a frustrated moan from Bryony soon brought the blonde's attention back to the task in hand.

'No.' I told him shaking my head.

The groom shrugged and started to return to his duties.

*

CHAPTER 12: PRIVATE DANCER

*

I made my way back to the room still a little unsteady on my feet.

It was late or early or something. I really wasn't quite adjusted to the time difference and while I'd like to have Bryony in bed beside me, perhaps taking the chance to catch up on some sleep was a good idea.

Don Hernan, however, clearly had other plans.

I opened the door to my room and there she was, the dancer with the Moorish eyes, kneeling, head bowed, at the foot of the bed beside the old fashioned, wooden ottoman bound with steel. She had been chained to the bed by her golden collar. On the carpet in front of her was a coiled bullwhip like the other dancer had used on her.

Now she was completely naked, her gold nipple rings and cuffs, glinting in the low light.

She looked up as I entered, the whites of her eyes shining slightly.

'Saher has been waiting, Senor.' She said in an accented and deeply husky voice. 'Don Hernan commands me to dance for you one more time'

She leant forward slightly on her knees, her large creamy breasts full, almost pendulous; there was something small and glinting hanging from each of her nipple rings and I saw her wrists were cuffed behind her back.

'You will find I Saher very responsive... and, if she is not...' She bent and picked the whip up in her teeth, lifting her head and offering it to me.

I took the whip, putting it under her chin to make her look up at me, enjoying a surprising thrill from the power it gave me.

'Levantate!' I said. Stand!

She obeyed, beautifully submissive, standing with a rustle of chain, head bowed, breasts thrust forwards. The items on her nipple rings were keys; one on each side.

'And these.' I gently touched the key on her right nipple.

'The key to Saher's bonds, Senor. That one is for the lock on my wrists.'

'And this one.' I touched the other key seeing her nipple stiffen as I brushed it.

'For Saher's more... intimate locks.' She giggled slightly looking down, blushing beautifully then lifted her face, her dark eyes focussing on me. 'Saher hopes that Senor will remove them later.' She smiled coyly.

'I'm sure Senor will.' I unhooked the key to her wrist cuffs and stepped behind her. Her wrist cuffs were linked by a padlock which yielded to the key. The cuffs themselves appeared smooth, welded on to her body.

'Dance.' I told her.

She began to hum softly then swayed her body to the rhythm, turning to present herself to me, my own private dancer. If her earlier performance had been and erotic rumba, this was full of sexual charge; slow and langorous, her hands in her lush thick hair, head back breasts thrust forward, a portrait of a woman in the rapture of sex. I could hear the soft click of the long chain fastening her to my bed and the soft chime of a bell as she writhed her hips; as she arched back, I saw a small bell swinging from the ring that pierced her clit and a chain running back between labial rings.

When she saw where I was looking, she smiled and turned and bending forwards, her legs apart displaying the thick smooth lips of her pierced and locked pussy, bulging and engorged, glistening with moisture; the gold chain securing them ran through eight gold rings and was padlocked to a golden ball that looked like the tail of a butt plug.

She turned and smiled gyrating towards me, eyes half closed, lips pouting, her soft hum turning to a moan, her huge breasts no more than an inch from my chest, her lips close to mine but not touching, teasing; I could feel her breath on my face, smell her scent.

I let the coils of the whip fall and her eyes followed it.

I'd watched the dancer use it, watched her dance as she evaded the blade.

She span away, at my first stroke which went a little wide; my second was closer bringing a smile to her face.

She began to sing, dodging left and right with the marvelous agility, the chain to her collar dancing with her as I brought the whip closer with each strike. When she turned away, I caught her full bottom with the tip of the whip and she squealed delightfully before raising her hands above her head, standing on her toes as if chained like that.

I took her round the waist with the whip, allowing the tip to kiss one of her breasts as it wrapped round her body.

Then I drew her towards me, turning her slowly with the whip, pulling her voluptuous body against mine. Her chest rose and fell from her exertion and then, as I wrapped her in my arms, she lowered hers around my shoulders and pulled my mouth to hers, her lips meeting mine eagerly.

For a long moment, I enjoyed the full warmth of her body, soft and full against mine.

'Senor.' She gasped pulling her lips from mine. 'May, Saher undress you.'

'She may.'

She began by undoing my shirt and pulling it back, her hands running over my body, tracing the lines of my muscles, enjoying their firmness.

My muscles weren't the only thing that was firm and, after dropping to her knees to remove my boots, she pulled down my trousers and boxers, smiling as my rigid cock bounced in front of her. Her fingers caressed it gently and then she kissed it.

'Saher asks that you unlock her so that she may please you fully.'

I took the chain locked to her collar and pulled her to her feet, leading her to the bed, her hand still resting gently on my cock. Then I pulled her up beside me, my hands going to her lovely big breasts, enjoying the full softness of the flesh, feeling their weight. Hooking my finger in one nipple ring, I pulled the nipple to my mouth and kissed it gently.

Saher groaned.

I let the breast fall and took the key off the other nipple ring, my hand sliding between her legs to find the lock that fastening the chain to her butt plug. She parted her thighs and I teased her gently.

'Senor, please or Saher will cum too soon.'

This comment puzzled me but I did as she asked, unlocking the padlock and pulling the chain free of the the labial rings; there seemed no way to remove it from her clit piercing so I left it dangling across her sex.

'Thank you, Senor.'

Her labia bulged and a large metal ball slid out with a soft clank.

She laughed at my surprise.

A second followed, falling into my hand, warm and wet, chiming slightly like a Chinese worry ball.

'Saher is made to carry them inside her at all times, Senor.' Her voice trembled as she spoke. 'Saher, is thus kept at all times... aroused... ready...'

'And this?' I touched the gold ball still fastened to her anus.

'Anal beads, Senor. Saher been prepared with an enema so when you remove them she will be able to please you.'

'And, if I remove them will it give you pleasure?'

'Saher will doubtless howl like a vixen on heat as she cums like the whore-slut she is.'

'Then we will save them for later.' I drew her in and kissed her and she pressed herself against me.

I've bedded way to many athletes, tight bodies, some so tense that it's almost been painful as they literally wrenched pleasure from my body with the determination to succeed.

With Saher it was completely different; they talk about women being built for comfort not speed and Saher epitomised this with her soft pliant body and her langorous touch; her laugh as I teased her nipples and gently bit the full flesh of her breasts.

'Please, Senor.' She said finally. 'Saher needs you inside her.'

I slid into her warmth and felt the tremor of her orgasm almost immediately.

'Saher needs to cum, Senor.' There was desperation in her voice. 'Please, Senor.'

'Saher may cum.' I didn't think she'd be able to stop even if I told her to.

'Ahhhgghhhh!' She threw her head back and howled, her body arching, hips thrusting, hands clasping my arms as she came.

I came too, shooting my load into her as she ground her hips against mine wringing her climax to the full.

*

Gracias, Senor.' Saher opened her eyes and smiled, reaching up to kiss me. 'Saher is denied for a month before now.'

'A month?' I stroked her hair, brushing it gently away from her face.

'Si, Senor.' She looked up at me with her eyes shining. Despite her orgasm she was still intensely aroused, still full of need. 'Saher is kept for pleasure and Don Hernan would expect a man to punish me if by cumming too soon I spoiled his pleasure.' She looked at me earnestly.

'You didn't spoil my pleasure.' I told her.

'Yet, still Saher asks that you use her fully.' She guided my hand to the first of the anal beads.

'Later.' I told her.

I was suddenly feeling very tired.

'Senor?' There was need in her voice.

'Yes?'

'Saher likes to be bound when her beads are removed.' She smiled. 'I think, Senor will enjoy it more if she is.'

The mind was willing but the flesh was weak. I'd flown half way round the world, downed a bottle of wine and just been shagged by a magnificently kinky slave girl.

I closed my eyes just for a moment...

*

I can only have been asleep for five minutes when there was a hammering on the door.

Hellcat and Shefury were fighting in the stables and, apparently, they were my responsibility. Leaving Saher, I pulled on my jeans and followed the stablegirl who'd woken me to towards the stable investigate.

Half the stable was, it seemed awake; ponies peered over stable doors and a number of bleary eyed grooms stood around my ponies' stall; none of them, I noticed doing anything to silence the catowalling that was coming from within.

The groom I'd seen earlier was standing by a stable door and, recognising me, gave me an amused smile.

'I think you should have pussy whipped them, Senor.'

I peered over the door to see the two girls laying into each other; dark hair flying, spitting and screaming; it was Helena on top, I thought, kneeling astride Shiraz. It was fortunate their arms were completely unusable in the polo sleeves or they might have done some serious damage.

'Just as well you went to bed early, Senior.' The groom said, handing me a whip.

I'd have liked to make a smart remark but even if could have thought of one, I probably wouldn't have been able to translate it into Spanish.

I opened the stable door and strode in, grabbing Helena by the hair and laying into both of them with the whip. Even so, it took me some time to get their attention and when I pulled Hellcat off her stablemate, SheFury took the opportunity to attack her, throwing herself at her rival and sinking her teeth into the girl's shoulder.

I used the whip liberally and was left holding one of them on their knees by the hair while I knelt on the other's back.

Eventually I had their attention.

'Would these help, Senor?' The groom who'd recognised me said with a command of English he hadn't formerly demonstrated.

He held muzzles and a number of cuffs and straps..

'Perfect.' I told him as I fought to regain my breath.

Despite my having subdued the pussy riot, he seemed reluctant to enter the stall but then I heard a woman's voice from somewhere behind him.

'Si, Senora Garcia-Mendez.' The groom entered the stall and I caught a brief glimpse of the stablemistress. It appeared she was taking her hooded pony boy for an evening stroll.

At Juanita's command, the groom entered the stall still somewhat cautious but the girls seemed chastened, and accept their binding though they glared at each other and exchanged insults most of which I didn't understand. They were still linked by the chain between their nipple rings and the groom undid this before we threw them on their bellies and buckled cuffs around their ankles; then we used the muzzles; these covered the lower half of the girls' faces and had leather discs to blindfold the wearer; they were fitted with huge rubber plugs which were so big I was surprised the girls could take them but we forced them into their mouths. Both of them had blood on thier teeth and lips, a mixture of their own and each others and I was careful not to allow Shiraz to bite me as I pushed the gag home. Finally, at the groom's suggestion we pulled them into an intense hogtie attaching their ankle cuffs to the top of the harness gags and hauling until the soles of their feet almost touched the tops of their heads. Then we placed them at opposite ends of the stable.

*

'I am Jose, Senor.' The groom said offering me his hand as we left the two fighting ponies to a night of punishing bondage.

I shook his hand. 'Mike.' I said. 'Thank you for your help.'

Jose grinned. 'You wish to see the redhead, Senor?'

I shrugged feeling more than a twinge of guilt at the thought of Saher lying naked in my bed but I peered over the door of Bryony's stall anyway and there she was, sound asleep with her head on PLT's thigh, the two ponies naked cuffed and chained as before. The pretty blonde was still facing the door; I thought she had very a satisfied smile on her face

Our approach must have disturbed her because her eyes fluttered open momentarily and her smile broadened. As I watched as she squirmed forward lifting her head and planted a kiss on bryony's pussy. Bryony stirred slightly making contented noises and nuzzled her face towards PLT's soft pink pussy.

I looked at the groom.

'They have been at it all night, Senor.' He grinned. 'It is why we had the muzzles ready.'

I looked around.

'Where are Ximena and Valeria?'

'Gone with your friend, Senor.' He thought for a moment. 'Senor Rueben.'

My guilt lessened further. Somewhere in one of these stalls, Rubber Dolly was probably snuggled up to Jacintha doing much the same with her as Pretty Little Thing was with Bryony. I was almost tempted to ask to see her but then I thought about Saher and her need to be relieved of her anal beads.

Perhaps it was time to wake the rest of the household and now it was over, I realised I'd quite enjoyed the thrill of handling all that fighting, squirming female flesh. If Saher screamed, I could always muzzle and punish her.

*

CHAPTER 13: ANAL FUN

*

Saher rolled over way too quickly when I reentered my room and I reaslised I'd left her with her hands free.

They'd clearly been buried between her legs when I'd returned and, when she sat up, the lovely dancer's face was flushed with guilty arousal. I didn't say anything but she knew she'd been caught out and suggested I bind and punish her before playing with her again. The thought of binding her excited me and she directed me to the ottoman in which I found a veritable cornucopia of bondage equipment. I picked out a pair of shiny red bondage sleeves that left me with free access to her breasts.

When I'd restrained her, she knelt at my feet, eyes shining with excitement.

For punishment, I gave her half a dozen blows of the crop to her breasts, thoroughly enjoying the way they bounced as I struck them and, when I'd finished, she thanked me, blinking back tears.

'Time to pull out those beads.' I told her.

'Si, Senor.' She smiled. 'Saher begs that you hood and gag her first.'

'I'm not going to make it that easy for you

However, I didn't feel in the mood to make things that easy for her so I tied a rope to the chain of beads and stood above her as I extracted them, whip poised, bringing it down on her lovely big breasts whenever she her cries were in danger of becoming too extreme.

If the comment about being denied for a whole month before tonight was true, I was surpsised she hadn't wanked herself senseless while I'd been away; however, the girl either had amazing stamina or had been obedient enough not to let herself cum.

She certainly howled as I removed the beads and I thoroughly enjoyed whipping her breasts to keep her quiet. After her second climax I put something solid in her mouth and made her suck me as I pulled the rest of the beads out. She did a pretty good job considering how distracted she was though made a bit of a mess swallowing at the end as we both came about the same time leaving her with my cum dribbling down her chin and spattered on her breasts.

I don't know if she did wake anyone else but I suppose it would depend whether they were sleeping or not.

Finally, I pulled her into bed beside me, spooning her so I could played with her nipples before getting a few hours of much needed sleep.

*

I felt rather self-conscious as I entered the stableyard dressed in my blue riding jacket, jodhpurs and boots the following morning but I don't think anyone paid me any attention. I'd left Saher chained to my bed hooded and gagged when I'd gone for breakfast and she'd disappeared when I went back to my room a little later.

The stableyard was a hive of activity; ponies being lead from their stables, watered, harnessed by grooms dressed just like me while others fetched gigs, adjusted tack and installed their charges between shafts.

Don Hernan already had a blonde pony harnessed to a polo gig and for a moment I assumed it must be Helga but then realised the girl between the shafts had a rounder bottom and much larger breasts; it was Barbie.

'Good morning, Miguel.' Don Hernan called lifting his whip to his forehead then lashing it across Barbie's buttocks setting the blonde dressage mare to a trot which she performed beautifully across the yard to where another driver was waiting with a second blonde pony harnessed and ready to go. I recognised Charles and then to registered that Helga was his pony.

I watched for a moment, slightly envious, as the two of them trotted their lovely obedient blonde ponies out of the yard then turned to find HellCat and SheFury being lead out of their stall by Jose. The pair were apparently unaffected by spending the last few hours of the night in punishingly tight bondage. The groom lead them by a rein attached to their nipple rings, I'd seen these hanging on the walls of stalls, a simple thong about three feet long with a clip on each end, a useful lead for a pierced pony. They are used on the sensitive central nipple ring and Jose held the leading reins very close to the girl's breasts so their nipples were stretched, pulled towards each other. I watched as he paused to let them squat and relieve themselves in the gutter; then he lead them over to a waiting gig.

'Buenos dias, Senor.' He smiled, passing me his crop before removing the triangular pony armbinder to check Helena's arms. I did the same with Shiraz who stood patiently, clearly used to this treatment. Jose then showed me how to fit the restraints, pushing the girl's hands back into the mitts and tightening the shoulder straps before folding the girl's arms up behind her back; then we fitted the triangular blue leather sheath.

Ponies in the stable, I learned, spent days and even weeks at a time with their arms in the pony sheaths, though they were checked daily or at least every other day.

'A pony has no need of her arms.' Stablemistress Juanita had told me. 'In the past, some players had their pony's arms surgically removed.'

Ponies were similarly kept in their boots too; forced to walk constantly on their toes so they were completely at home in this arrangement.

It felt slightly strange, harnessing and bridling these relative strangers. I was used to keeping Bryony in almost constant bondage and had obviously harnessed and bridled PLT and The-Cat a good few times but there was always a connection; a smile even when Bryony was in one of her intensely submissive moods. Harnessing Helena and Shiraz was a little taking saddling a horse before going off pony-trekking. They just stood waiting, expectantly and, though it's never an unpleasant experience to put a pretty girl into tight bondage it made the whole thing feel more like a chore than a pleasure. Perhaps it was for the best, after the night they had given me, I had no scruples in making sure the harnesses were tight and, when the groom passed my Shiraz' tail, I took great delight in pushing it home before locking the flange in place.

'I trust you approve, Senor.' Jose said as he fitted Helena's tail. 'A pony girl must know her place.'

Harnessing them may have been somewhat mechanical but, once completed, the pair did look delightful, matching Hispanic beauties helpless in tight bondage, pierced and booted, ready to be driven under the whip.

The groom asked me which I wanted as my 'right hand girl', explaining that the girl on the right was more likely to feel the whip. I couldn't honestly say I knew which I wanted to punish most but the groom suggested it should be Shiraz so I harnessed them to the gig that way round, clipping the leather traces to their harnesses and then attaching the reins to their nipple rings enjoying the sight of the tense chain between their pert little breasts and the drag of the reins on the outer rings. Their nipples were intensely sensitive, swelling with every tiny tug on the little ring that pierced them. Whichever conditioning method the Caballeras Azuls used, it was clearly effective.

Then we bridled them.

'Make the bits tight, Senor.' Jose instructed.

I did as he told me, tightening the bit firmly between Shiraz white teeth earning a glare from her dark sultry eyes partially hidden behind the straps that crossed her cheeks.

When I'd finished adjusting the bridle and drawing her hair into a short sleek ponytail, I looked round to see that Goose had PLT and Bryony harnessed and bridled and ready to go. PLT was on the right; I suppose if I'd been driving them, I'd have put Bryony there; naturally Reuben had Rubber Dolly as his right hand girl. I was surprised to see that Rubber Dolly sported a tail and I wondered what she might have done to deserve this form of punishment.

I mounted my gig and, at that moment, Juanita trotted up with her ponyboy in harness. I noticed that, as well as whipmarks on his buttocks and thighs, there were nailmarks raked across his back and shoulders. The stablemistress made a quick inspection of our tack, drawing her gig up beside each of our ponies; hooking her finger into harnesses to check tension; ensuring the attachment of reins to bridle rings (the heavy outer ring in the areole) and the steering ring (the small ring set horizontally in the nipple). She raised an eyebrow as she surveyed Helena and Shiraz who seemed unsettled by her presence or perhaps it was her pony that spooked them. Either way, she gave each of them a sharp blow to the buttocks with her crop.

'You should have punished them this morning.' She said to me somewhat accusingly. 'See that you pussy whip them before stabling them this evening.'

'I will.' I nodded trying to sound firm.

She whipped them both again and then drove her ponyboy up to where Rubber Dolly and Jacintha stood side by side in harness; stopping to make a careful inspection of Rubber Dolly, jerking her nipple reins vigorously enough to unbalance her and then delivering a gratuitous slap with her crop to the mare's pale buttocks.

'Doesn't she have a clit ring?' She said to Reuben.

Reuben nodded.

Jaunita turned to a stablehand and called for a restraining rein. 'And bring one for Jacintha too.'

The reins were brought and clipped in place before being passed back to Reuben.

'That should help you keep them in check.' Juanita said with satisfaction.

Then she whipped her pony to the trot and after turning to call to us to follow, lead us from the courtyard.

Outside the stables, we turned off the track onto the fields where a training session was already taking place; the 'seconds' again as far as I could tell, under the watchful eye of Valentina, the coach with the eyepatch. One player was already bare chested.

It was a beautiful sight and, despite their behaviour in the night, when I looked back at Shiraz and Helena I was once again taken by the thrill of driving these exotic ponies, knees rising and tails swishing as they trotted in front of me. It was hard to believe they would give me too much trouble but, after chastising them overnight a small part of me hoped for an opportunity to use my whip again.

*

We dropped down onto another tier, another green polo field, and Juanita motioned for us to stop then turned her gig to face us.

There was something that resembled a Mars-de-Launce obstacle course laid out though it lacked see-saws and raised sections; there were, however, lines of posts in the ground and sections of track with lines painted across it.

We were put to work in a circuit, driving our ponies zig-zagging between the posts and then making them step in the boxes at the walk and the trot and then the canter; using the reins to achieve fine control over them. In all the exercises, the girls were expected to keep in step, albeit opposite step in the case of the new English ponies who completed the whole morning with their 'middle' ankles linked together like a very kinky three legged race.

The Caballeras Azuls stable had a tradition of training girls in pairs, initially side by side as we were doing and then as player and pony. I learned later, it was not uncommon for pairs to swap the roles from one season to another particularly if a player's statistics were slipping. The idea was to form a bond between the two girls so that they thought and acted as one.

I suspected this might prove difficult with Hellcat and SheFury.

They weren't bad ponies and actually performed pretty well in the various exercises when they weren't distracted but I had to use the whip a lot to keep them on task.

We were training alongside the 'potras', foals, albeit a little further on in polo training than our mares. It was, I understood, the goal of every housemaid in the Hacienda to become 'potra' (I was sure at least two of them had served us dinner the night before) and of every potra to win a place in the seconds' stable. Needless to say the seconds (of whom there were many) aspired to rank among the sixteen to twenty girls who made up the elite firsts.

We'd done a few of this morning's exercises under the watchful eye of Cream while training for the match in Mars and I thought our 'mares' did rather well among the local potras. Of course, Rubber Dolly was a dressage mare and used to doing this kind of thing blindfold if not paired but she soon 'synched' with Jacintha, much to the disappointment of Juanita who seemed to have taken a bit of a dislike to the lovely dressage mare after their meeting the previous day and delighted in punishing her for the slightest error. Cream had, presumably been through all this before and I wondered if she resented being back in boot camp, however, she had clearly been training The-Cat hard and the two of them were certainly the best of the mares and, in fact, outshone most of the potras despite the very exacting player drawn from the seconds to put them through their paces. Goose and her racing mares struggled the most and when we broke for lunch Juanita was vociferous in her suggestions that Bryony and Pretty Little Thing should be fitted with polo piercings. 'Nipple and clit!' She said forcefully. 'Total control.'

*

It had been hot work and, after the cool of the morning, the hot sun seemed to be blasting down on us and the humidity made the air thick. I'm sure it was cooler at this altitude than it would be training on the plains below but then I wasn't sweating in harness.

We trotted our panting, perspiring ponies back to the stables for lunch and a well-earned rest and freed them from the traces and shafts. They all dropped gratefully to their knees. As I removed Helena and Shiraz' bridles, I could feel the leather was soaked with sweat and I watched them shake their wet hair as they knelt.

'I hope we performed well, Senor.' Shiraz said looking up at me. Even with her accent I could hear the sarcasm in her voice. Both girls giggled; their differences apparently settled, I suspected, in a quest to thwart and humiliate me.

The stablehands brought bowls of water and placed them in front of the kneeling girls who bent and drank thirstily.

I had to smile at the sight of it; tanned bottoms liberally decorated with the marks of the whip, gaping pussies, some with piercings and, of course a few decorated with tails.

I was about to follow the others into the courtyard of the Hacienda for lunch when Juanita stopped me.

'You have a punishment to administer.' She looked at my pairs' raised bottoms as they lapped eagerly at their bowls. She called to two of the grooms. 'Juan, Magrita. String them up.'

*

CHAPTER 14: PUNISHED PUSSIES

*

It was the first time I'd seen any sign of remorse in the girls' eyes. They struggled but they were in harness and when Magrita struggled with Helena, a stable lad came to her aid. I watched them being dragged to the posts in the centre of the stableyard were more grooms tied ropes around their ankles; they were then hoisted up between the posts, dangling by their ankles, legs spread wide, pussies gaping. The arrangement had them back to back, their bound arms bumping against each other as they struggled vigourously, their thick dark hair hanging down swinging as their bodies bounced against each other.

Juanita pushed a whip into my hand; this was not the light, partly stiff, short-handled ponywhip used for driving but a long, braided leather bull whip with a vicious looking forked tip.

'La vibora.' The stablemistress said.

This was clearly another test and there was little I could do but accept it. At least I knew how to use a whip though, not necessarily how to carry out a 'pussy whipping'. I looked around and realised I had quite an audience; perhaps they'd been impressed by my demonstration the previous day.

I hefted the whip, and made a few practice throws.

My audience, Juanita in particular, seemed decidedly unimpressed though the two struggling girls stilled, perhaps resigned to their fate. Shiraz' dark eyes regarded me fearfully.

My first stroke was aimed at Shiraz' pussy and I was pleased with the result; it struck the skin just in front of her pussy with a crack that echoed around the stables and branded a red mark on her smoothly shaved sex. I heard her gasp, arching back although this just meant she bumped against Helena and thrust her sex more directly towards me; as she swung back, she looked at me with pleading eyes.

I looked back at her expectantly.

There was a moment's silence.

'Uno, Senor.'

'Good girl.' I hefted the whip again.

My second strike caught the front of her left thigh and I aimed the third at the right, catching the soft skin of her inner thigh. The forked tongue was vicious. She continued to count.

'We haven't got all day.' Juanita said caustically.

'Quattro, cinque, seis.' The next three strikes caught her as close to the lips of her pussy as I could manage.

I crouched in front of her.

'Well?' I asked.

'Gracias, Senor.'

'Just six?' Juanita asked.

'More?' I asked the helpless pony who's dark eyes were wide, shining with a film of tears.

'No, Senor.' Shiraz begged. 'Shiraz will be a good pony. Shiraz will please you.'

I stood up and walked round to Helena.

Helena didn't count, at least not until we reached seven. There were tears in her eyes by nine and she was begging by the thirteenth stroke which, because she was swinging so violently, caught her square on the inside of her right labia making her scream.

'Shall we start again.'

'No, Senor.' She begged, weeping openly. 'Please.'

'Then count for me.'

'Si, Senor.'

She counted to six between sobs.

'And will you be a good girl?'

'Si, Senor.'

I doubted it.

I gave the whip back to Juanita and followed the others out to lunch trying hard not to look at the faces of the watching ponies and grooms although I did catch Rubber Dolly's eye as I passed her and thought I saw her smile.

*

There was a lunch laid out in the courtyard of the Hacienda; bread with cheese and meat and olives washed down with some cold beer. The girls from the seconds who'd been driving the potra didn't join us though Valentina did, asking us about our experiences and then pressing us for details of Mares and it's races.

I think we were all a little tired from our journey and the previous night's entertainment but the excitement of the morning was enough to buoy our spirits and with cold beer to quench our thirsts, we were soon laughing and joking and sharing tales of ponies and mares; at least until StableMistress Juanita came to join us.

After lunch the whole stable took a siesta; this was a welcome rest and I slept until a stableboy banged on my door to wake me.

We found most of the ponies curled up in the shade of one or other of the olive trees in the corners of the yard or under the eaves of the stables. Helena and Shiraz however, were still in the centre in the full heat of the sun. They no longer hung from their ankles but had been placed on their knees strapped down to the mounting blocks; the heat almost radiated from their bodies and their skins shone with sweat.

I gave them both a couple of sharp blows across the buttocks before releasing them and leading them to the gig.

Shiraz seemed a reformed character but Helena remained recalcitrant and I put her on the right. Rubber Dolly appeared to have been recalcitrant too; when I heard the slap of a whip on flesh I looked up to find Juanita punishing her.

Then, with the ponies again harnessed we trotted down to the training field for an afternoon of practice.

***

It was growing dark when we drove our exhausted ponies into the stableyard. The gates at the far end were open and I could see other ponies, Valentina's seconds I thought being removed from their harnesses by their players.

A groom came to help me with Shiraz and Helena. Both had actually been a good deal more obedient since their whipping at lunchtime, particularly Shiraz.

'You wish to chastise them again, Senor?' The groom asked as she clipped leading reins to the ponies' nipple rings. She was a pretty girl, probably no more than eighteen but the way she had handled Helena, removing her bridle and tack and guiding her by the piercings in her nipples suggested a complete confidence in dealing with naked, harnessed pony girls.

'I think they've been good this afternoon.' I patted Shiraz' bottom and thought I saw her smile.

'I would suggest a handful of strokes across the breasts, Senor.' The groom persisted. 'Just to remind them.'

Helena glared at the girl but despite not being bridled managed to hold her tongue.

'No.' I said. 'They've been good.'

'As you wish, Senor.' The groom shrugged. 'I will stable them for you.'

'Make sure you keep them apart.' I warned. 'Handing Shiraz' reins to the girl.'

She smiled. 'StableMistress Junaita has a plan for them, Senor.'

She turned and lead them across the yard and, intrigued, I followed.

The pert young groom was quite a sight, stripped to her shirtsleeves; she seemed to have sweated almost as much as the ponies and her white blouse stuck to her skin revealing her firm body and the black bra she wore underneath; her jodhpurs were tight on her bottom and she was, herself, wearing pony boots; to see her leading my two ponies still booted and restrained and still wearing their tails toward their stall formed a beautiful picture although, however perfect this might sound, I could see the dried sweat on the ponies' bodies, the dust on their skin and the whipmarks on their backs buttocks and thighs.

The girls' stall was surprisingly brightly lit and, as we approached I could see several figures inside. The ponies clearly saw them too and both pulled back suddenly but the groom held firmly to their reins and drew her crop from her boot, holding the reins close to the girls' nipples to control them and delivering a sharp blow to Helena's bottom.

'Behave yourselves, bitches!' She hissed. At least I think that's what she said as she jerked hard on their nipples.

I stepped forward to take Shiraz' reins and the little groom forced Helena into the stall with a mix of the whip and her nipple reins.

Shiraz was clearly spooked too. Her eyes were wide.

'No, Senor, please.' She whispered softly rocking on her boots and resisting as much as her stretched nipples allowed.

I lifted the whip and she capitulated. 'Si, Senor.' She dropped her head and followed me through the door.

Inside the stall, Helena had once again become Hellcat and, despite her restraints, the little groom and two of her male colleagues were struggling to control her watched by a woman in a white coat.

Helena let rip a torrent of Spanish that I didn't fully understand though it was clearly heavily laced with expletives and, eventually, one of the grooms punched her in the stomach making her double over. Winded, the girl stopped struggling and the two male grooms lifted her up and carried her to something that looked like a large sawhorse where they placed her face down with her belly and chest lengthwise along it and strapped her down with belts over her back and around her thighs.

When Helena was fastened to the frame, the woman in the white coat bent over her and wiped something across the pony's sex.

Another string of expletives followed and Helena bucked wildly making the sawhorse jump. One of the grooms leaned on her and another pushed the plug of a muzzle into her mouth then secured it behind her head.

Despite the restraints and the weight of the groom on her back, Helena continued to struggle making the horse to which she was strapped jump slightly. The groom that had gagged her placed his foot on the loop of her nipple reins stretching the struggling pony's little breasts.

The woman in the white coat told the female groom to remove Helena's tail which she did and then produced a pair of surgical forceps and a metal device that looked like a gun. Then, she again bent over the helpless pony's sex. The tip of the forceps touched Helena's sex the pony put up one final struggle then stilled as the woman in white used them to grab her clitoral hood.

Helena screamed but kept still as the woman pressed the device in her other hand against the pony's clit.

There was a loud click and Helena jumped though she made no noise.

When the woman drew her hand away there was a gold ring piercing the pony's clit.

The female groom handed the woman a short light chain with a ring on the end and she clipped it to Helena's new piercing making the helpless pony wince. The female groom then clipped a longer, heavier chain to the ring at the end of the short clit chain where it hung down between the pony's legs. Then cautiously, the grooms released Helena, easing her back onto her knees. She didn't struggle and there were tears in her eyes.

The female groom pulled gently on the chain and Helena shuffled backwards on her knees whimpering. The groom took a padlock and clipped the chain to the wall. Helena knelt with her head bowed.

I glanced at Shiraz who was looking very pale.

'Please, Senor.' She whispered appealing to me.

The two male grooms stepped forward but she turned to them.

'Shiraz will be a good girl.' She said then walked calmly to the sawhorse where she knelt down.

As the women in white wiped down the girl's sex, I looked up to see the stablemistress and Valentina slip into the stall to watch the process repeated before Shiraz was chained to the wall at the opposite end of her stable.

'Hood them.' Juanita said.

The grooms pulled leather hoods over the girl's heads and pulled their hair out behind before securing them.

'Hooding them at night is another way we punish ponies.' Valentina told me. 'If a pony is lead from her stall hooded, all will know she has been a bad girl; especially if she is also wearing a tail.'

*

I left my ponies to endure their humiliation and their sore pussies and found the others in the courtyard of the Hacienda drinking with the grooms. An hour later we adjourned to the bunkhouse for dinner and then bed.

It was only nine o'clock in the evening but work in the stable started early and Valentina was the first to leave followed by the other grooms until only Goose, Charles, Barbie and I remained.

Despite the trouble they had caused, I wanted to check on my ponies; at the very least, it might stop me being woken up in the night; although it was unlikely that even Hellcat and SheFury could achieve anything bound and hooded and chained. I hoped to see Bryony too and I slipped into the stableyard waving to Jose as I passed his office. Then I skirted round the edge of the yard towards my ponies' stable planning to peer into Bryony's stall though I suspected I would see her in exactly the same spot as the night before.

Needless to say, she and Pretty Little Thing were just as they had been, curled up together with their heads resting on each others' thighs.

Then, as I turned to cross the yard toward my ponies, I noticed there was a figure in centre of courtyard spread between the whipping posts, her arms stretched out and chained to the posts just above shoulder height; her legs were spread too and her head bowed. Curious I went to see more and realised it was Rubber Dolly. Her pale beauty making her even more like a marble statue in the moonlight; a sculpted goddess or nymph, though one with a tail.

She'd been whipped; thrashed more like; even in the moonlight I could see dark stripes across her back and buttocks, her belly and breasts too. A knotted cat lay on the ground in front of her.

She was held in place by heavy steel chains, shackles locked around her wrists and ankles, her arms spread and pulled slightly behind the line of her shoulders.

'Are you ok?' It seemed a stupid question.

'Mike.' She opened her eyes and looked up. She looked exhausted, her hair matted and disheveled around her face but, as always, I was struck by her beauty. 'Fancy meeting you here.' Her face creased into a tired smile, the corners of her eyes and mouth wrinkling in a way that seemed only to add to her charm. 'I really seem to have pissed off that stablemistress.'

Her tone reassured me despite her appearance.

We both looked down at the whip.

'I seem to have, er, dropped something.' She said.

'I think StableMistress Mendez-Garcia will be even more pissed off now.' I told her.

'You could pick it up for me.' She said huskily. 'I seem to be a little... tied up. She pulled at the chains and they clanked softly. I couldn't help thinking of fairytales; captive fairies, trapped in the mortal realm by chains of iron.

I bent and picked up the whip, holding it to her mouth.

'Shouldn't you teach me a lesson first?' She asked.

'Possibly.' I said. 'But I thought both ponies in a pair were punished when one had misbehaved.' A conversation gave me the opportunity to look at her beautiful body. 'Jacintha doesn't seem to be here.'

'She is sort of.' Rubber Dolly gestured with her head and I turned to follow her gaze towards an illuminated stall. 'She's over there on her knees somewhere pleasuring miss-hard-arse stable mistress.' She smiled again. 'To be honest, I'd rather be here than on my knees giving pleasure that bitch.'

I looked back at Rubber Dolly. 'And Reuben?'

She laughed gently. 'Amusing himself, I don't doubt. I thought I saw him going into the second's stable with one of the grooms. Perhaps he'll look in on me on his way back.' She looked around. 'Until then, I'm stuck here... all alone.' She looked at me with those beautiful grey eyes. 'Completely helpless.'

My eyes drifted down her body, her pale breasts and the gentle curve of her belly, her shaved sex and her parted legs.

'You don't have to restrict yourself to looking.' She pulled on the chains. 'It's not as if I can do anything to stop you.'

Even as she said it, she leaned forward slightly as if to offer me her full pale breasts with their piercing rings.

I thought of the dancer...

'But Reuben?'

'He'd probably enjoy watching you touch me.' She pushed her breasts further forward. 'Sir!' She added after a moment. 'He'd like it even more if you whipped me.'

I reached out and touched her left breast with the whip, teasing the nipple which swelled immediately.

'I can hold that for you, if you want both hands free.'

I held the whip to her mouth and she took it between her teeth.

Then I reached for her breasts, they were deliciously firm and the nipples responded instantly as I rubbed my thumb over them. Her skin was cool, smooth where it was not red and angry from where whip had struck her; I could feel the dust and the dried sweat.

The whip bounced on my wrist and fell to the floor.

'Ooops!' She said looking at me with lust. 'I can be so clumsy.'

I took a step towards her, aware that my cock was standing rigidly to attention.

Her mouth was warm and receptive, eager, her lips firm, her tongue strong as it entwined with mine and then she leaned against me as I slid my arms around her, my hand sliding down to her firm round bottom. Though her flesh was soft, the muscle beneath was hard as stone.

My cock was rigid against her.

'So you are human.' She smiled, nudging my cock with her sex.

My hand brushed... a tail.

'You have been a naughty girl.' I said tweaking the tail gently.

'Not half as naughty as I'm feeling now.' She pushed her hips forward thrusting her sex against mine.

I heard footsteps and turned.

It was Juanita with Jacintha in tow. The faux-blonde crawled on all fours.

'I think you might be in even more trouble now.' I said, stepping back slightly from her rather more quickly than I should have done and bending to pick up the whip.'

'Just when we were getting down and dirty.' She said in a voice that almost fixed me to the spot.

I put the whip in her mouth and turned to leave, limping slightly as a result of my massive erection.

I went to see to Hellcat and SheFury

*

CHAPTER 15: TEAMWORK

*

Our training continued in a similar vein the next day although we finished earlier and had the pleasure of watching the seconds training under the watchful eye of Valentina. The one-eyed coach talked us through a lot of the moves and explained the coaching techniques she used. Even if I hadn't been watching sixteen nubile young women, half of them in bondage and the other half dressed in tight leather gear playing pony and whipping each other I'd have found it interesting.

I'm a performance coach, the closest I ever get to 'teamworking' is handing over the baton in the 4x100m relay. Much of it was new to me, particularly Valentina's approach that all players should be treated equally; equally praised and equally punished according to their level of ability. Ximena and Valeria, the girls she had singled out for punishment the previous time I had watched were among her better players, almost ready for the firsts; other girls in the team she might have praised for doing some of the things that had caused her to punish them. From Ximena and Valeria she expected perfection.

*

After their piercing, my ponies had been considerably more obedient and, after dinner, I went to see them, once again passing Bryony and PLT asleep in their stall. Rather disappointingly, Rubber Dolly seemed to have escaped punishment this evening and the poles and pillories were empty.

I found Shiraz and Helene chained as they'd been the night before at opposite sides of their stall; Helena, once again, muzzled. Like most of the ponies, it was several days since they had been showered and their scents filled the stall, covered only partially by the fresh straw on the floor.

'We have been awaiting you, Senor.' Shiraz lifted her head and looked up at me. Her dark eyes flashed enticingly. 'We hope Shiraz and Helena are good ponies today?'

'You were good.' I told her then glanced at Helena who seemed nodded slightly, her dark eyes regarding me warily over the muzzle that covered her mouth and nose.

Shiraz smiled. 'Thank you, Senor.'

There was a moment's silence.

'I came to make sure you were alright.' I said rather lamely.

Shiraz gave a little laugh and looked down at the coil of chain between her knees. 'We are a little sore, Senor.' Then she looked up and smiled up at me. 'You should not worry, Senor. We are ponies, we are here to be used.'

She raised a dark eyebrow suggestively.

I looked at Helena. 'Perhaps I could take this out.' I moved to remove the gag but she drew away.

'Shiraz will be happy to please you, Senor.' She crawled forward slightly on her knees and nuzzled her face against my groin then. I stroked her dark hair for a moment and then, surprisingly deftly, she used her teeth to undo the button of my trousers.

'Shiraz is very skilled, Senor.' She had softly rounded cheeks when she smiled.

In a moment, using just her teeth, lips and tongue she had my cock out and in her mouth.

'Senor is fond of Shiraz?' She said looking up at me.

She flicked my cock with her tongue and took me into the back of her throat then began to use her lips, rocking her head back and forwards.

I certainly could become very fond of Shiraz.

***

Shiraz was a girl of many talents; well, a few very sexy ones and I rather thought I'd won her over. However, then I arrived in the stables the next morning I found proper pony gigs in the yard and Reuben, Goose and I were given one of the seconds to use as a pony. Much to my surprise, Helena a Shiraz were given ponies too.

Camilla, my new pony, was another lovely dusky maiden, sleek and beautiful if a little paler than most of the other girls and deliciously fit. She was a little taller than the average pony. When I addressed her in Spanish, she replied in English. 'I am Brazilian, Senor.' She said with the arrogance I had come to expect of one of Don Hernan's ponies. 'And we may as well speak a language we are both comfortable in.'

I got the feeling I was going to have fun driving this one.

We were joined by Valentina driving Ximena and another of the seconds with Valeria between the shafts.

'Remember what I told you.' Valentina said, drawing her gig up beside mine.

I nodded.

'Be ruthless.' She had said. 'Ponies are there to by used... Use them.'

She flicked her whip and pulled away.

I followed.

Even as we headed out of the stable gate I realised it was going to be way more than just fun.

Camilla ran like a dream; from the moment she went to the trot I could tell driving her was something special like the fist time I'd got behind the wheel of Bryony's sports car. She clearly had power and acceleration and was unbelievably responsive to both the reins and the whip. She moved beautifully too; there is something about the way elite athlete's move, something graceful; a relaxation combined with focussed tension and Camilla had this; her trot was perfect and when I took her to the canter I could see a perfect efficiency in the way she ran; just the thought of making her gallop filled me with an eager expectation.

Once we got the practice field, the one on which I'd first seen the seconds in action, I found out just how good she was. We were set a series of tasks, manouevering, driving between poles in the fashion of dressage or field training but I'd never seen any pony do it like Camilla did; not even Barbie or Rubber Dolly. A simple touch on Camilla's reins made her turn and my use of the whip seemed almost overzealous; if Valentina had not exhorted me to use it I would probably have forgotten. Of course, she wasn't hooded for the morning and could thus anticipate but I had a feeling that, once I'd got used to driving her, she'd be just the same blindfolded.

I just hoped I'd be good enough.

***

I was on a high when we trotted back to the Hacienda for lunch. It was the Wednesday of our first week and, after several days, I was acclimatised to the time difference; I was thus beginning to find the siestas a bit tedious and, after lying down in my room for ten minutes, I decided to go and talk to Goose.

There was no response when I knocked on the door or when I called out to her.

I was just walking away then the door opened.

'Mike?' She certainly hadn't been asleep. 'Are you ok?'

'Yes, fine.' I looked at her.

Goose was wrapped in a sheet and clearly wearing nothing underneath it, it parted at the top of her thighs giving me a view of her bare leg; bare that is other than... a pony boot.

He blonde hair hung tangled around her shoulders.

'I just...' I hesitated realising she was clearly busy. 'I, er, fancied a chat.'

'Oh.' She blushed slightly. 'Actually, I'm a bit busy.'

She opened the door to let me see into her room.

She had a pony in there. A pony boy. He was strapped spreadeagele to Goose's bed and was naked other than a hood and his boots. His cock was stiff and drooling and it twitched as I looked at it. There was a whip lying across this thighs.

'What?' She said a accusingly. 'Don't tell me you're not making use of the local talent with Pretty and Bryony practically sleeping with their tongues in each other's pussies.'

'Senorita?' The pony boy called.

'Silencio!' Goose admonished. 'Shut up or I will whip your cock again!'

Then she turned back to me with a smile.

'You can come and join us if you like.'

***

In the afternoon I got to experience Camilla in her full glory; the perfect hooded pony and, as expected, she performed beautifully even if I had a tendency to oversteer her at first. Even blind, she seemed to anticipate well, although I did get to use the whip, particularly when she anticipated wrongly.

'She can be headstrong.' Valentina told me at one point. 'She used to be a player but she is so much more suited to a life between the shafts. It is that sometimes she forgets and tries to think too much. Do not spare the whip.'

I didn't forget the whip and things just got better and better.

As we drove back to the stable, I couldn't resist the urge to find out what she was like at the gallop. I flicked the whip and she responded beautiful, opening her stride, accelerating so quickly it was exhilarating. I pulled away from the group, using the whip to keep her at the sprint. We were two hundred yards away from the stable when I sensed a movement to my right; Ximena was drawing level with me, hooves pounding and when I glanced back I could see Valentina whipping her ferociously; a little further back to the other side was Goose driving her pony hard too.

I flicked the whip again and in my haste caught Camilla between the legs making her stumble for a moment; then she accelerated again; it wasn't much but it was enough to pull away from the others.

I'd trained international athletes less capable.

Only Ximena had any hope of keeping pace and, just to make sure I eased Camilla to the right ensuring that her rival would have to slow before we reached the gate to the stableyard.

We were going so quickly that, as we approached the gate, I had to slow her down; polo gigs don't have brakes. Even so, Camilla pounded into the yard causing heads to turn as I drew her to a stop.

She was breathing hard, her shoulders rising and falling and, as I climbed from the gig, I couldn't resist giving her a pat on the bottom.

'Good girl.' I could smell her sweat; like the other ponies, it was probably a while since she'd been allowed to bathe or shower.

I held her reins feeling a gentle pull on them as I watched her pert little breasts rise and fall.

'Shang yu, Shenor.'

I stroked her breast, toying with the piercings, the little ring in her sensitised nubs and the larger ones on each side; running my finger along the chain that linked her breasts I pushed down and her little mounds were drawn slightly together, the areoles elongated enjoying my complete mastery over her and she pushed her chest forward, clearly excited by my touch. When I ran a finger down her tight belly, tracing a line in the dust and sweat coating her skin, she took a step forward, clearly wanting more.

'I hope you're going to finish the job!' Valentina was standing beside me holding Ximena by her nipple reins.

'She's magnificent.' I said.

'Even better than your little redhead?' Valentina asked. She was toying with Ximena's nipples.

'There both magnificent on their own way.' I said diplomatically. 'Camilla is clearly a trained athlete.'

'Longjumper.' Valentina said. 'Silver medalist in the last South American games, came fourth in the Olympics.'

'Can I have her tomorrow?' I asked on impulse.

'You can have her tonight if you like.' Valentina said with a smile. 'Unless you'd prefer one of the boys.'

*

I stabled Camilla, still in her arm-sheath and boots according to stable protocol. Like many of the more highly trained ponies she had a mounting block in the corner of her stall and, when I lead her in, she knelt down, leaning over it.

'I hope Senor will massage Camilla's legs.' She said looking up at me.

It was a very tempting offer, seeing her kneeling there with her arms tightly restrained and her lovely firm bottom pointed towards me. I knelt down behind her and rubbed my hands together, noticing there was a strap attached to the block.

'Do you need to be strapped down for your massage?'

'No, Senor.' She laughed. 'That is for when you want to punish your pony.'

A whip hung from the wall above the block, a riding crop that would be no use when driving a pony; a tail with a butt plug hung beside it.

I clapped my hands on her right thigh, starting way higher than I would normally.

'Oh!' Camilla gasped. 'Senor has strong fingers.'

I massaged her right thigh and then her left. I like to think I'm pretty good at sports massages, everything from dealing with cramp to more 'physio' type work; it's fair to say that I've enjoyed it with some athletes more than others.

Camilla's was one of the ones I enjoyed and, by the time I'd finished, my cock was straining for release. I thought of Valentina's offer and was considering taking things further when I heard the sound of gigs entering the courtyard. I clipped Camilla's stall chain to her clit ring and went to look.

It was PLT, Bryony and The-Cat pulling pony gigs. PLT and Bryony were being driven by players from the seconds and Whipped Cream who was driving The-Cat. Jacintha was there with another potra between the shafts of her gig and half a dozen others followed her in.

The ponies were filthy, covered almost from head to foot in grey mud; it coated their skin and their harnesses and was matted in their hair. Most of the players were spattered with mud too.

'Shower them and clean the tack.' Jacintha commanded as the players began to remove their ponies from between the shafts of their gigs.

I watched one of the second team girls start to unbuckle Bryony's harness. The mud coating her hair and body made her almost indistinguishable from the other ponygirls.

'Shall I get this one pierced properly when she's been showered, Mistress?' The girl asked Jacintha. 'She will be easier to control.'

'Give her a few more days.' Jacintha said but I'm sure the StableMistress will want her done.

'Yes, Mistress.' The girl removed Bryony's bridle. 'You come, Pony!' The girl said to Bryony in English, hooking a finger into one of my lovely fiancee's nipple rings.

Bryony followed still restrained in the polo sheath and still wearing her boots. I knew the girls were kept in their arm restraints and boots but was surprised they were showered in them. However, when the pair reached the shower block, the player freed Bryony's arms and then bent to remove her boot.

Bryony had been strapped into the sheath for a little over seventy two hours but, aside from shrugging her shoulders and stretching her neck, she made little attempt to move her arms; they seemed to hang at her sides, limp and forgotten, pale white in complete contrast to the grey mud covering the rest of her body. Her boots were the same colour as her legs and, as she stepped out of them revealing white feet, I noticed she stayed up on her toes.

I was about to go and talk to her but suddenly found Shiraz at my side.

'Master?' Shiraz said, her voice thickly accented, pressing herself against me. 'Shiraz like to please you more tonight.'

Helena appeared at my other side sliding her hand into mine.

'Helena please Master!' She pressed herself against me.

Shiraz turned to look at her fellow pony.

'Master prefer Shiraz!' She said angrily, her eyes flashing and her face tensing. 'She please him already.'

'It Helena's turn.' Helena pulled on my arm.

Shiraz grabbed my other arm holding me firmly.

Around me, heads started to turn in my direction.

'Ladies...' I said looking across the yard to see Bryony's player cuff her hands behind her back and lead her into the shower.

I tried to pull free but, for ponies that were supposed to forget the use of their arms, both girls were surprisingly strong.

'Stop it.' I managed to get my hand out of Helena's grip and turned to deal with Shiraz only to feel something land heavily on my shoulders and back. It was Helena, her arms wrapped round my neck and her legs around my waist. I stumbled forward hanging on to Shiraz for support although, she clearly interpreted it as a gesture that I preferred her and, as a consequence, threw herself at me, wrapping her arms around me and pushing her mouth against mine.

The effect of their combined weight was enough to make me lose my balance and the three of us tumbled to the ground.

I was pretty sure I heard laughter around me and was vaguely aware of a crowd gathering as I found myself, once again, pinned in the middle of a cat fight, literally, only this time they were not restrained in any way. For a few moments, there was little I could do but lie there as fought around me, clawing, spitting, pulling hair and hurling abuse at each other around me. Then, I managed to push them apart enough to wriggle free and, grabbing Helena by the hair, I pinned one of Shiraz' arms with my foot and pulled them apart.

Helena struggled for a moment but Shiraz lay still, panting hard with three bleeding scratches on her cheek made by her rival's nails.

'What is happening?' Valentina pushed through the crowd of onlookers and paused briefly to take in the scene.

'Grooms!' She shouted angrily.

Blue jacketed bodies came forward to grab the two squabbling ponies.

'Restrain them and put them in their stall.' Valentina continued. 'I will punish them later.' She looked at me with a wry smile. 'Are you alright, Miguel?'

I nodded.

'He's fine.' Goose stepped forward. 'Women fight over him all the time in Mares.' She winked at me and then, as she stepped past the slapped me hard on the bottom.

*

CHAPTER 16: THE POLO CLUB

*

We dined with Don Hernan again that evening. A little less grand than the meal with which he had welcomed us but formal enough. This time I definitely recognised couple of the waitresses as potras who'd trained with us. Don Hernan had them dressed up as English maids complete with lace hats and aprons although their dresses had plunging necklines and high hems.

He asked if we'd made progress on our team name and Barbie suggested 'The Knights' given the story of how the Mares Race came into being.

'It is a fine suggestion, Senorita.' Don Hernan said with great charm. 'But it will not do. It means the same as 'Caballero' in Spanish and we already have the Caballeras Azuls.'

We threw around a few more words, mostly relating types of cavalry; we liked 'Hussars' but Reuben pointed out that they were really European. We went back to the village and the Arthurian legend behind the Mares Race and the village's name which some translated as 'Mares of the Lance' referring to them or, at least the lucky one, pulling the knight's chariot, presumably along with his lance. (Despite the stories, it probably had something to do with being near the coast and a place to launch boats into the sea but that wasn't a popular theory in the village even if it was more likely to be correct).

Then, suddenly, Charles came up with 'Lancers'.

'Si!.' Don Hernan cried in triumph.

And so, the 'Mares Lancers' was born.

As the others talked about this in more detail, suggesting designs for a team insignia and strip, Don Hernan took me aside and asked me about my training.

'Yes, I've had a good deal of success...' I told him; I'd learned that modesty didn't pay here.

I knew what was coming.

'And what are your initial thoughts on our our training regime?' He put his arm round my shoulder in a way that felt slightly threatening but continued on a friendly tone. 'Please, Miguel. I urge you to speak freely. Sometimes one can become insular. It is good to obtain an outside opinion.

Although his manner was friendly there was an edge to his voice, something I'd met before at 'gala' fundraising evenings; investors wanting to know what they would get in return for their donations. When I'd first started out in the business, I'd tried to avoid it but, more recently, I'd learned that 'schmoozing' was an important skill. Don Hernan was shrewd and made no secret of the fact that the PonyGirl Polo Club was a significant business venture and, having provided us with hospitality, he expected a little return from his investment.

I didn't blame him and, quite frankly, I had nothing to loose except, of course that I was in the middle of Argentina, seven thousand miles from home and in a hacienda surrounded by armed guards.

So, for the next thirty minutes, I told him what I thought.

***

After finding Goose with her pony boy I'd realised I'd not been enjoying my full ration of hot ponyflesh, so, when my little chat with Don Hernan was over, I wandered into the stableyard. The grooms knew me now and I wasn't challenged. Bryony and PLT were sleeping in their usual positions, heads resting on each other's thighs. I planned to visit Camilla. She was, after all, my pony now.

There was another pony being punished, bent over between the whipping posts, her legs spread, tail dangling, arms stretched out wide behind her above the level of her shoulders, a chain from her collar held her bent over.

For a moment, I assumed it was Helena or Shiraz and wondered why only one of them was being singled out, but it didn't really look like either of them, she pony had a fuller body and larger breasts.

It was Rubber Dolly.

I walked towards her noticing a vile smell as I reached her. She stank of mud and I recalled that she hadn't been there when the others had come back. Neither had Stablemistress Mendez-Garcia.

Rubber Dolly lifted her head stiffly; she held the knotted cat in her teeth; she'd obviously been beaten with this again and where mud did not cake her skin, firey red welts notched with red barbs where the knots had struck home decorated her skin.

She opened her mouth, dropping the whip deliberately.

'Ooops.' Despite her exhaustion, her smile was still there.

'You're filthy.' I said it before I'd thought about it

'Hell, yes...' Her voice oozed sex. 'Has it really taken you all this time to figure that out?'

'I mean...'

'Apparently it's an initiation rite. We had to train by running through the mud then they pelted me with it, and when the others had gone, that fucking bitch dragged me through it by my ankles.' She seemed remarkably sanguine about it. 'I have mud in places a girl should never get mud.'

'You did say you wanted to get dirty.' I said with a smile.

'Oh, I'm way beyond dirty.' She grinned showing me her teeth. 'I'm filthy!'

'I...'

'I'm a dirty, filthy slut!' She moved in her bonds. 'Use me, you bastard. It's the least you can do for leaving me hanging the other night.'

My cock was rigid again as I walked around her looking at her helpless body, mine for taking. 'You really do enjoy being treated like this?'

'Hell, yes.' She shot back. 'Now stop talking and use me like the filthy cum whore I am.'

I bent and picked up the whip.

'Oh, good boy.' Her voice was shaking. 'Beat your slutty whore until she begs to suck your cock.'

Stepping behind her, I brought the whip down across her bottom enjoying the hiss of the tines and the slap across her bottom.

'That's for dropping the whip'

'Yes...' She strained against her chains and they creaked. 'Yes, good boy'

The curve of her bottom was beautiful, a perfect roundness and her legs were spread for me. I brought the whip down again.

'You will call me, 'Sir'. I struck her again.

'Yes, Sir.' Her whole body was shaking.

I brought the whip down again.

'That's for being so filthy.'

'Yes, Sir.'

I struck again.

'And that's for being a slut.'

'Yes, Sir.'

'Open your mouth.'

She obeyed and I put the whip back into it. She grasped it eagerly with her teeth.

'Uze me.' She said around the whip. 'Pleashe, Shir!.' She was panting.

I opened my trousers and stepped close behind her, sliding her tail to one side.

'Yesh!' She gasped as my cock brushed her sex. 'Fugg, me, Shir!'

She was mine, completely mine and the thrill of it filled my body. I could take her any way I chose.

I smiled and grasped her tail, turning the locking flange.

'Whad...' She squirmed slightly. 'You bashtrad...'

I slid the tail out and pushed my hard cock against her ring.

'You lovely bashtard.'

I pushed my cock inside, nearly cumming at the intense thrill of her sphincter spasming around me.

'Yesh...'

I bent over her reaching down and cupped her breasts, they were deliciously firm and the skin smooth under the coating of dried mud which cracked under my fingers as I squeezed them before thrusting again.

'Of, fugg!' She twitched in her bonds, climaxing. Her sphincter spasmed again and I nearly lost control.

'You are a really bad girl.' I whispered almost thinking out loud.

'Oh, yesh....'

'A wicked slut...'

'Yesh, Shir!' Her voice was strained, intense. 'Punish me!'

'I think you'd enjoy it too much.' Even so, I pinched her nipples hard aware I was compressing the tender flesh against her piercing rods.

She moaned and my body ached with the pleasure of dominating her.

I thrust again keeping a firm hold on her nipples.

'Oh, God.' She didn't climax this time but pushed back against me; my balls pressed against her pierced sex.

I moved my right hand down between her legs, feeling the ring in her clit and exploring the array of rings in her labia.

She climaxed again and this time I couldn't stop myself. I drove in hard, slamming my balls against her sex, my hands groping for purchase on her helpless body to increase the sensation, forcing her forwards to the limit of her bondage, my balls spasming and my cock firing deep inside her as I pumped hard emptying myself into her.

Fuck!

When I was finally spent, I stopped, finding one finger hooked into her clit ring another other twisted in her left nipple ring.

I just knew she was smiling.

'You've dropped the whip.' I told her.

'Yes, Sir.' She said. 'You'll have to punish me now.'

*

'You did not visit Camilla last night.' The lovely Portuguese pony said as I entered her stable. She knelt, chained to the wall by her clit ring, arms still sheathed as I had left her the night before. She had clearly been fed; there was porridge on her lips, nose and cheeks and her long hair hung partly free.

Friday morning and the start of another beautiful day in the stables!

'I found other amusement.' I told her.

'Sim! Camilla noticed.' She pouted. 'You only have appetite enough for one woman?'

I'd fucked Rubber Dolly three times.

She glared up at me with smoldering dark eyes.

'You are a very insolent pony.' I told her.

'Sim. I am a polo pony, my spirit cannot be broken.'

'That is a challenge I would like to take up.'

'It is a challenge you would loose.' Her dark eyes flashed.

'Then I will enjoy trying.'

On her knees, in bondage, I could easily have whipped her.

'Then you had better put me securely in harness and make me obey you.'

I wondered if all the ponies in the stable were as spirited as the ones I'd met so far.

I certainly hoped so.

I freed her clit ring from the night chain, attached the lead rein I held to her nipples and then pulled her to her feet, holding the reins near her neat little breasts. Lead reins are light, loops of leather with a clip on each end and are designed to fasten to the central ring, the one through the nipple itself; it gives more control and, by holding it, I was pulling her pierced nipples gently together and towards me.

Then I stroked them gently.

'Senor does like his pony then.' She said, her cheeks colouring slightly and her nipples swelling at my touch.

'I was just wondering if your nipples had been conditioned recently?'

'Three weeks ago, Senor.' There was, I thought, a slight waver in her voice.

'I like my ponies to be responsive.' I told her. 'Perhaps it is time to refresh your obedience.'

Although she was tall, I was taller and I was able to look down on her. Intimidation can be a useful tactic when you need to push someone.

Her eyes looked straight ahead rather than at me.

'I am not due to be done until next week, Senor.' She looked slightly pale.

I had definitely rattled her despite her bravado.

There was another lead rein hanging on the wall and I took it up, feeling between her legs to find her restraining ring and clipping it in place. Then I let my hand linger there, my fingers teasing her gently.

'You do not appear to have a training partner.'

'No, Senor.' Her voice was unsteady.

'Nobody to share a stable with.'

'No, Senor.'

'It must be lonely.' I continued to tease her.

'Sim, Senor.' He eyes flicked toward me.

'Frustrating.'

She was getting wet.

'Sim, Senor.'

'Chained up at night, unable to satisfy all those urges.'

'Sim, Senor.' She nodded curtly. She was breathing a little quickly.

I took my hand away and she looked at me with shock.

'I expect my ponies to be responsive.' I told her. 'Always.'

'Sim, Senor.' Her cheeks and breasts were red, her nipples stiff.

'You are an insolent mare!' I told her. 'You will wear a tail today.'

'Sim, Senor.'

She bent forward immediately and I lubricated the tail on her sex before pushing it in and locking it in place with a twist.

Then I took her hood off its peg and pulled it over her head, pulling her tangled hair through the ring in the back and then lacing it up.

'And if you misbehave, I will have your nipples conditioned.'

'Sim, Senor.'

I started to lead her forwards and she followed obediently; she was afterall leashed with rings piercing her nipples and clit.

'Senor.' She stopped suddenly and I heard her gasp at the pull in her intimate piercings. 'You have not broken, Camilla yet.' I saw her smile through the hood. 'But she is glad you know how to handle an insolent pony.'

*

There was more drilling in the morning and, in the afternoon, I even got to play with the ball. Camilla was delightfully obedient; even more responsive to the reins and the whip and I tried to concentrate on the precise control I learned in the last few days. I remembered Valentina's comment about Camilla trying to outthink her player and I thus made a point of dominating her completely; I'd done it with Bryony in training on a few other occasions, using the whip for any tiny indiscretion, any fractional delay in response time.

With her speed and agility my new pony easily out performed all the others despite my rather inexperienced handling; although, after a week of drilling, I was getting the hang of guiding a pony through polo moves.

As usual, we trained alongside the potras although today we worked under the direction of StableMistress Juanita herself. Aside from Camilla, there were no other second team ponies or players; even their coach Valentina had abandoned us. Shiraz and Hellcat were thus back together, Helena in harness; and PLT had been given charge of Bryony. Goose had Jacintha and, of course, Reuben was driving Rubber Dolly although, when it was necessary to demonstrate something, Juanita usually abandoned her pony boy and used Rubber Dolly, taking great delight in whipping the lovely brunette brutally until she performed the manoeuvre to the stablemistress' satisfaction.

We all knew why the seconds weren't with us; they were all preparing for the match the next day.

*

CHAPTER 17: THE JAGUARS

*

I kept Camilla hooded as I lead her by the lead rein back to her stall, then pulled her to her knees.

'May I speak, Master?' She asked as I began to unlace her hood.

'Yes.'

'May Camilla congratulate master on the way he handled his pony today?' Her body was still warm, wet with sweat; I could smell her scent mixed with leather and, as I pulled the hood off her head the heat it contained rolled over me. Her black hair was wet, stuck to her skin, across her face and in her mouth.

'She may ask but I think she continues to be insolent.' I tidied her hair, brushing it away from her face.

'Camilla thinks Master prefers a pony who is... less docile.' I thought she was smiling. 'They are... more interesting.'

'They also require more punishment.'

'Camilla hopes that is the case. She has noticed Master is particularly... diligent... in punishing errant ponies.' She was definitely smiling now. 'Camilla hopes Master will spend the evening... disciplining her.'

'Camilla is very presumptuous for a pony.'

'But she is also very desirable.'

'My pony has a very high opinion of herself.'

'Your pony has every right to be.'

'Then why is my pony not playing for the seconds tomorrow?' I asked. 'Or not already in the firsts.'

There was a moment's silence.

'This is a very traditional stable, Master.' She was speaking slowly, choosing her words carefully, the banter of a few moments ago forgotten. 'Camilla has... different views from some of the coaches. Camilla is also Brazilian.'

'I've been told there are ponies from other countries in the firsts.'

'It is true Master but they are... more obedient.'

'Then perhaps Camilla should be a more obedient pony.'

'But then Camilla would not be Camilla.' She looked up at me. Her face was red, the skin puffy from a day inside the hood, her hair was wet and tangled and she smelt of sweat and leather but her eyes were shining and her body perfect.

'Use me, Master.'

I crouched in front of her, my hands drawn inevitably to her nipple rings.

'Is Camilla trying to be more obedient?' I asked with a grin.

'It is true, Master, that Don Hernan would expect you to treat my body in any way you chose.' She looked at me with an urgency I was beginning to feel too. 'But mostly Camilla asks it because being in harness makes her hot and very horny and she right now needs a man to fuck her hard.'

I wasn't quite sure what to say.

She looked and me; she was quite a pretty girl despite the flush in her face; then she cast her eyes down.

'Camilla... enjoyed being Master's pony today.' She licked her lips. 'She wishes to share that pleasure and encourage him to return to her later.'

'And what would Camilla have master do later.'

'Camilla hopes that Master will remove this tail and, after spanking her hard, fuck her in the arse until she cums like the anal slut she is.'

***

Christmas eve began with a roar of engines and clatter of blades and I looked out of my window to see a helicopter settling on the grass pitch in front of The Hacienda where I had seen the seconds training on my first day. I went out onto my balcony and saw a man emerge; he was dressed in a linen suit and I watched as he ducked low under the blades. A moment later, a second figure emerged, a woman in a white skirt suit.

The helicopter took off and a few moments later a second one arrived from which another woman emerged.

We met the new arrivals at breakfast; Don Hernan's brother who was a younger version of Don-Hernan himself, complete with Zorro style moustache; Don Hernan's wife who was, not surprisingly attractive and well dressed and probably, in her late thirties, several years younger than her husband. The third arrival, the woman in the white suit was one of the most beautiful women I have even seen; I accept I have a bit of thing for those brown Spanish eyes and thick dark hair and would drop anything if Penelope Cruz or Stephanie Beatriz asked me to give her some coaching; but allowing for the fact I had been surrounded by them for the last week, this woman was off the scale; breathtakingly beautiful did not do her justice and when she smiled at me I could easily have fallen in love. As well as beauty, she had grace and a perfect body as far as I could see (the white suit was very tight and the skirt was very short; those tanned toned legs were almost mesmerising. I suspected she would be perfectly home in harness but from the way she looked, I suspected she liked to hold the whip hand. This was Marie-Argenta, Don Hernan's younger sister.

Goose took great delight in pointing out I'd poured coffee over the table instead of into my cup but at least did the service of dragging me out to the stableyard for morning practice before I did something really embarrassing.

*

We finished practice at lunchtime and had just returned to the stable for lunch when we heard cries of excitement in the stableyard and went to see that other team had arrived for the afternoon match.

This was allegedly a 'friendly' between the Don Hernan's seconds and a fairly new stable in the BA PonyGirl Polo Club; but I knew Valentina was taking it very seriously.

That it was a friendly on the part of the opposition wasn't clear either.

The visitors were the Jaguars and they arrived in a massive grey coach with the name of the team in large cream letters down the side; the bus was also painted with the team logo, a leaping Jaguar and depicted rather fantastical creatures that were part woman and part cat that would not have looked out of place in a comic book. However, when the door opened and the team emerged, it was clear the designs were not a fanciful as I might have imagined.

The first figure to emerge was a woman, crawling on all fours, muzzled; she was naked save a very rudimentary harness that was little more than a collar and belts above and below her breasts small breasts; boots and gloves; her skin was decorated with the markings of the jaguar and her hair short and spiked, dyed a pale blonde that was almost white; she had a tail too, short and think, more like a cat's than a pony's. As she crawled down the ramp, she strained at her leash which was held by what I can only describe as an Amazon warrior; tall and busty and wearing a fur bikini that I wished was fake but was probably real jaguar skin. The girl wore a gold collar and fur boots. Like her pet, she surveyed us with a brazen arrogance.

I'd assumed these were some sort of mascot but then another emerged and another, and I gathered these were the ponies and their players.

'Polo is all about showmanship.' Don Hernan had told me.

*

The strange procession circled the yard, the 'jaguars' snarling and spitting, fierce, straining at their collars and their Amazon handlers pulling on their leashes and using their whips. Finally, the stable owner Don Carlo emerged with a woman who I took to be his wife on his arm.

He was older than Don Hernan. white haired, thin and distinguished.

Don Hernan welcomed him, shaking his hand and kissing his wife affectionately; he introduced the family too and his visiting 'team' from England. Don Carlo smiled warmly, giving Goose, I noticed, rather more than a passing smile and pressing her hand to his lips.

'So when will you join the Club?' Don Carlo asked us.

'We are in the early stages, Don Carlo.' Don Hernan interrupted, inviting his guest along with the rest of us to take a glass of sherry before the match.

*

'Does your team plan to join my brother's club?'

I looked round to see Maria-Argenta standing beside me all huge dark eyes and long lashes fluttering.

'Er...' My mouth went dry.

I tried to formulate a reply in Spanish but couldn't think of a word.

'I think we will need a little more training.' I said in English.

'You are the coach are you not?' She was speaking ideomatic English with barely the trace of an accent.

'Yes... no...' I stammered. 'I am a coach but not for... our team.'

'You seem uncertain, Senor Miguel.' She asked with a flash of white teeth and perfect glossy pink lips that had me blushing like a schoolboy. 'And yet, for some reason, my brother is under the impression you are a very capable sports coach.'

'I coach athletics.' I tried to explain. 'For polo I'm... just one of the team.'

'The team?' She raised one of those dark, perfectly groomed eyebrows. 'You have male players... ponyboys, perhaps?'

'Our ponies are girls but some of our... players are men.' Goose stepped up beside me.

'And are they all as fit as you?' Maria-Argenta slid a hand inside my jacket and touching my shoulder.

'I...' My jaw dropped and, if I'm completely honest, my cock stiffened.

'I'd have thought you were most suited to being a pony.'

'Well, I...' I stammered in a very small voice as my cock swelled almost uncontrollably.

'Yes.' Goose appeared and, for once, to be on my side. 'Why are there only ponygirls?'

Maria-Argenta turned on her and I felt a mixture of relief and profound disappointment.

I watched Maria-Argenta smile.

'Sex!' She said. 'This is Argentina where men are men and women know their place.'

'And what place is that Donna Maria?' Goose said with what I can only describe as a mischievous smile.

If the comment was meant to bait Maria-Argenta, she didn't rise it.

'The use of male players is traditional, Senorita Goose, but the women's game is faster and what is not to like about two women together...'

It looked like Maria-Argenta and Goose and could agree on this point; the lovely dark Hispanic and the Nordic blonde...

'And is there a place for ponyboys?' Goose asked with an innocent expression. 'Your stablemistress seems partial to them.'

'Ponyboys are best kept for pleasure.' Maria-Argenta said, her dark eyes flashing. 'When one is relaxing, there is little more satisfying than putting a ponyboy through his paces to see what he is capable of.'

They both looked at me.

'Maria.' Don Hernan appeared beside his sister. 'The family should meet.'

'Of course, brother.' Maria-Argenta demurred as all good Argentine women are, apparently, supposed to. 'A pleasure to meet you Senorita Goose...' She said with a smile. 'And you, Miguel. I hope to have the satisfaction of seeing what you are capable of before I leave.'

*

My first (proper) polo match was even more incredible than I'd expected; I'd seen the youtube clips and I'd played that game in Mares-de-Launce; I'd even watched the seconds training but the sight of eight lithe female ponygirls tightly strapped into harness, semi-naked, hooded and bridled driven by eight more nubile young women, mercilessly whipping them was as intensely erotic as it was exciting; and it was exciting; it was vicious too, no quarter given, more gladiatorial combat than contact sport; hard fit, young female bodies slamming against each other; the snap of the whip on bare flesh, cries of anguish and frustration and blood. I understood, it was not unusual for a pony to be stretchered off. Valentina had lost her eye when a shaft had broken and pierced her hood.

It was obvious why this sport was beginning to attract a following even without the obvious draw of fit young women in bondage being used as human ponygirls.

Ninety percent of the game is in the drop and it's the first drop that really counts and the visitors won it, not a good sign for Don Hernan's Caballeras Azuls. However, the home team didn't give and inch, contesting every ball, players scrapping, blindly obedient ponies slamming into each other and into gigs and I'm sure whips were used on more than ponies.

*

Valentina refereed the match, using Camilla as her pony dealing out punishments freely, strokes of the whip across the breasts for players and ponies alike, although mostly to ponies. It gave me quite a thrill to see Camilla in action under the whip of a skilled player, albeit not one who was competing especially remembering what I'd done to that beautiful body the night before. Her harness was more ornate and traditional in white leather with a girdle and breast rings like Mares' field harnesses and her arm sleeve was in the more classic armbinder style; she was plumed too but, like the other ponies, Camilla was hooded, her dark ponytail dancing behind the smooth white leather as she ran. There was, I understood a standing joke in polo circles when one disagreed with a decision made by the referee to question who was wearing the hood; the ref or her pony.

The visitors were good; their ponies moving precisely, accelerating quickly and turning with agility in a way that did justice to their team name. I noticed that their ponies wore harnesses like the ones we'd used in Mares-de-Launce, their wrists strapped to their chests just below their breasts, hands (or 'paws') in leather mitts; I saw that their elbows were pulled slightly together forcing their shoulders back. Although all the ponies were pierced, they used bit reins.

Watching the teams in action quickly made me realise where I was going wrong in my game; there was no hesitation, both teams were utterly committed, driver and pony, even as flesh slammed into bare flesh and gigs rolled leaving ponies' legs flailing in the air. As I watched the match, I remembered Maria-Argenta's comment about the women's game being faster. It was; and it made all the training I'd seen look as if they'd been doing it half speed.

*

Despite the determination among the Don Hernan's girls, at the end of the first chukka the Jaguars were three-one up.

In the first break, I watched Juanita give the seconds a team talk that sounded as devoid of latin passion as it was heavy in solemnity. I wished I was close enough to hear what she was saying although, I suspected it might involve the threat of pussy whipping the whole team.

Valentina glowered at them as she stood to one side stroking Camilla's flanks. I wondered it she too might be in the firing line (whipping line?) should her team lose.

When Carmen lead her team out for the second half, Don Hernan's leather clad Caballeras Azuls had a clear look of determination; however the Jaguars glared back, giving a deep roar as they moved to take up their positions on the field.

Unusually, there was a false start at the beginning of the second chukka, the visitor's centre attack coming off the line too quickly, too much excitement from the young redheaded ponygirl. I thought they were both early but Cream sitting next to me reminded me about the anticipation.

'It's that instant to ball touches the ground.' She said. 'Not the bounce, not the dust, not the sound.'

Valentina trotted Camilla down to the start line and gave the pony a series of sharp raps across the breasts with his whip.

I suggested this was a little unfair but Cream disagreed.

'A good pony just knows...' Cream said. 'That's the way it works. Besides, the player will suffer far worse from her stable master after the match for such a perceived loss of control.' She added that both girls would probably be dropped for the next few matches if she did it again. In the Caballeras Azuls, the pony would be sent to the cheerleaders for the rest of the season and the player would wind up between the shafts of a gig in the training stable as a whipping girl for the potras to practice with.

There was no mistake the second time and, in her hesitancy, the visitor lost the ball to Carmen, the seconds' captain who went on to score with a beautiful display of manoeuvring and passing and I wondered if the tide was about to turn; but the little red headed pony and her player came right back at the next drop as Valentina tossed the ball out; sprinting across the field and colliding with Carmen's pony with such force that both gigs tipped back and the ponies were left with their legs flailing wildly while their players fought to prevent themselves overturning. The Jaguar player managed to regain control first, scooping up the ball and the visitors surged forward to support the little red-headed centre attack pony who accelerated forward under a brutal whipping from her player. The Caballeras' hustler drove in to block the attack; there was another collision and I saw the little redheaded pony stagger from the impact of a gig shaft that rammed into her thigh; her player passed the ball and the whipped the little redhead into a somewhat limping gait. The visitors' advance continued unabated; to my untrained eye they looked just as proficient as Don Hernan's Blues passing the ball and evaded any attempt to block them as they whipped their ponies forward.

The Jaguars' quarterback scored and at the next drop took over in the centre attack role, the little redhead, dropping back into defense, obviously limping and at the next drop she limped off as a sub came on. I later discovered she'd sustained a fractured thigh. The pert brunette that replaced her was just as tenacious, perhaps trying to prove herself. She had, of course, spent the game so far hooded and I suspect she had little understanding of what was going on though must have guessed something was amiss if she was brought on as centre attack in the second chukka.

*

As the melee continued, I overcame my initially awe and was able to see a little more about the way the ponies maneouvred, watching them execute set pieces; seeing how the riders used the reins and their whips to control the girls. The visitors' new centre attack was a little slower than their starting pony and this gave Carmen a slight advantage which she pressed home eagerly but the Jaguar's hustler was a real fighter; the pony slightly stockier as, I was learning, they often are; her player thinking nothing of driving her pony headlong into the other team's ponies just as Don Hernan's hustler had done in the incident that had injured the redhead. As well as using her pony as a battering ram, the the busty 'Amazon' player used her whip indiscriminately on ponies and players alike, accepting and, almost enjoying punishments she and her pony repeatedly received from Valentina.

Shortly before the end of the second chukka the hustler's pony sustained a gash to her belly and play was suspended while she was bandaged up. Rather than bring on their second sub, the pair were sent back into defense to let the pony catch her breath but the quarterback had other ideas and her willing pony seemed unaffected by her injury. The pair spent most of the time jsut behind the centre line, galloping back as needed and just before the end of the chukka, the player pulled off a remarkable save having whipped the girl to full gallop, knocked Don Hernan's quarterback to one side and blocked a shot from their centre-attack in a move that had the crowd on its feet. She then gathered up the ball and drove her injured pony at full gallop to score just as the whistle sounded for the end of the chukka.

*

The rest of the match was just as amazing; continuing to supply a heady mix of excitement and erotica; seminaked ponygirls in bondage, lathered with sweat, their skins glistening, bodies glowing; lifting tired legs under merciless whipping; their backs and buttocks marked with an increasingly dense mass welts and bruises; they drooled round their bits, saliva running freely onto their bare breasts and, in the case of the blues, running over nipples that must have been throbbing with agony. I found it hard to believe that these women wanted to do this, wanted to be kept naked and restrainted, chained up, pierced intimately at the whim of their stablemistress, whipped on a daily basis and forced to perform under threat of even severe punishment.

Don Hernan had told me he had more applicants for his stable than he could take, many of them recently were already accomplished athletes; more than one of his ponies had represented Argentina or, in some cases other countries in international track events, several had medaled; one of the other teams in the Club had a couple of swimmers too, one of who had won gold in the last Olympics.

*

By the end of the final chukka, another pony, one of the Jaguars, had been stretchered off with an obviously broken lower leg and two of the remaining ponies were limping, their legs strapped up. Even the subs looked exhausted. Though relatively protected, the players were bruised and battered and two had broken fingers. Watching their determination had been just as much of a thrill as watching the pony girls. In Don Hernan's stable all girls started out as ponies, some became players and all were as fit and as hot as Whipped Cream in her leathers; I didn't know if the busty dominant Amazons of the visitors every sweated between the shafts but, if they didn't, they certainly trained hard; perhaps it was hard to be a pony with double-Ds.

The match ended with a victory for Don Carlo's Jaguars, eleven goals to six.

Don Hernan did not look best pleased as he congratulated the visiting stable owner but his words were cordial.

Don Carlo on the other hand was, understandably elated and, after a brief conversation with Don Hernan went to congratulate his stablemaster and his ponies and players who seemed to show genuine affection for their owner.

As the visitors celebrated, I noticed Juanita lead a dejected looking Carmen off in the direction of the stables.

*