Chapter 2

In Which the Technicalities are Explained.

 

 

Susanna and Jeremy rose the next morning to find Sir Osmond in a jovial mood. At breakfast he dished out large helpings of kippers and kedgeree, pointing out their nutritious properties.

“You’ll all the energy you can get you know,” he declared expansively. “Carting’s hot work. Have another kipper, my dear. No? Then how about some orange juice? ”

Susanna gave a cool assent, but her look of nervous excitement didn’t escape the old man’s notice. Jeremy on the other hand just looked miserable. Sir Osmond sighed to himself. Where was the boy’s spirit? At Jeremy’s age he’d have horse-whipped anybody who tried to blackmail him into some piece of sexual debauchery, or more probably gone along with the idea and quickly been running the show, taking his revenge at a later date. He speared a segment of kipper and shook his head sadly, recalling fond memories of his own, now distant, youth.

“To work then,” he announced, draining the last inch of his coffee and getting to his feet. “Cook should have the cart ready in the stable yard by now, I’ll explain the basics to you and then we can take her out for a spin.”

They emerged into the yard to find the cook, a large, matronly woman of middling years, making the last adjustments to the cart. It was a simple device, a seat mounted on wheels with shafts, made of wood and painted a glossy black with an intricate logo in scarlet.

“Notice,” Sir Osmond began, “the small wheels and rough track tyres, ideal for off road racing, and independently mounted to allow it to turn on its own axis. As it is not motorised, speed is not related to wheel size. Hardwood frame, M8 specification bolts, three-quarter inch marine ply plates, damn strong. The whole caboodle comes to pieces and can be stowed in the back of a car. The harness just looks like a tangle of leather until it’s on. Come on girl, off with your clothes. What are you waiting for? ”

“Do I have to be nude for practise?” Susanna asked doubtfully.

“Of course,” Sir Osmond replied impatiently. “Who ever heard of a pony wearing jeans and a tee shirt? Shoes we allow on the grounds of practicality, and perhaps a pair of knickers or a bikini if a lot of people are likely to see, but always the practical minimum. Another thing, once you’re in harness, you don’t speak under any circumstances. Not that it’s too easy with a bit in your mouth in any case. Do get on with it. It’s not as if nobody’s seen you in the buff before! ”

Susanna gave a shrug of resignation and began to undress, the cook taking each item of clothing and folding it neatly over her arm. The woman accepted the young girl stripping in company with casual cheerfulness, smiling and passing a pleasant remark on how tasteful and expensive Susanna’s knickers were as they were peeled down the girl’s legs. Sir Osmond fiddled with a complicated system of leather straps, not troubling to watch Susanna undress.

“This,” he said, holding up a broad belt of thick, yet supple black leather, “is the waist belt. As you see, it laces at the back and these eyelets go over these pins, allowing a comfortable fit for any waist between twenty and sixty inches. This twist lock goes at the front and attaches to this strap, the pulling strap, which runs between these big eyes at the ends of the shafts, you see? That puts the brass ring at the back, above the belt and these straps go over the shoulders, like so.”

Sir Osmond put Susanna in the harness as he spoke, pointing out each detail to Jeremy, who stood nodding dumbly as his naked wife was strapped up, the old man’s hands brushing against her body with a casual disregard for her sensitivities.

“The shoulder pads slide along the straps,” his uncle continued. “Like this, and so can be adjusted for comfort. this rope then loops around like this, from the shoulder strap ring, through each shaft eye in turn and then the smaller ring at the front of the belt. That secures the pony firmly in place and means she’ll be pulling with her hips and shoulders. These wrist straps either attach behind her back or to the shaft eyes. I prefer the later. Not so visually effective perhaps, but it improves manoeuvrability with really no greater freedom of movement. The bridle fits like so; the bit, which you’ll note is leather rather than steel, in the mouth; these three straps form the headstall, one under the chin, one behind the head and one over the top; the reins dangle down the back. On the day we’ll do something better with her hair, but it’s all right for now. There, now she has full control over the cart but is otherwise helpless.”

Sir Osmond reached out and took hold of one of Susanna’s breasts, bouncing it appreciatively in his hand and running a thumb over the nipple. Her foot shot out, connecting smartly with his shin and making him jump back.

“Ponies can kick, of course,” he said, after a second to recover his composure. “But that is where the whip comes in handy. Cook, the whip please.”

The cook, still beaming cheerfully, handed him a long black riding whip.

“I say. . .” Jeremy protested as the whip cracked smartly across his wife’s bare bottom, drawing a squeak of alarm from her.

“Don’t be such a wet blanket, Jeremy,” Sir Osmond snapped irritably. “Hasn’t she ever had a whip taken to her arse before?”

“But. . .”

“Oh be quiet you drip. Right Susanna, take the cart a little way without a rider, get the feel of it.”

Once more the whip smacked against Susanna’s bottom, and she set off, hesitantly at first, then faster and more confidently. She turned at the end of the yard and came back, trotting smartly. Sir Osmond looked on with a critical eye.

“Hmm. . .” he remarked to Jeremy when she came to a stop, “ generally very good. She’ll pull well, though her breasts are perhaps a trifle larger than the ideal. They bounce too freely you know. That can be uncomfortable over a long distance, and discomfort makes for inefficiency. Still, I’ll be very surprised if the opposition is any better. Well, I think you’re ready to learn control now. First there’s the loading procedure. Kneel on the ground.”

Susanna hesitated, then lowered herself to a squatting position, turning her head to look questioningly at Sir Osmond.

“No, no, knees on the ground. Stick your bottom out more. Yes, that’s better.”

Susanna shivered, knowing that her position made her bottom cheeks part and that anyone behind her would be able to see every detail of her slit. Sir Osmond stepped over the shaft, paused to admire the thickly furred cleft of Susanna’s bottom and then ordered her to rise, taking the reins before sitting down.

“Not much heavier is it?” he asked.

Susanna nodded assent.

“That’s because my weight is directly over the axle. If I lean forward, or if you are going downhill, the weight will push the shafts down. If I lean back, or you are going uphill, then the shafts are forced upwards. Part of the riders’ job is therefore to keep the balance right, and so exert a minimum of strain on the pony. Have you got that Jeremy? ”

Jeremy nodded, fascinated despite himself and unable to entirely dismiss the erotic effect of seeing his wife naked and hitched to a cart.

“Weight, of course, is another problem,” Sir Osmond continued. “If the rider is much heavier than the pony, then the cart becomes harder to control. This is not because of the rider’s weight as such, but because shifts in balance become exaggerated. Still, I have known ponies to perform adequately with riders of twice their weight, and it only really becomes troublesome in competition.

“Commands are straightforward. I’ll pull the reins left or right to change your direction, pull either to slow or halt you and use the whip to start you off and speed you up. Usually I’ll add a verbal command as well. OK? ”

Susanna nodded again.

“Start off then.”

The whip smacked gently against Susanna’s flesh, sending a quiver across her behind as she set off at a careful walk. At a second smack she began to trot, turning in a wide circle as Sir Osmond guided her with the reins. Jeremy watched as his wife was steered in another circle and then through the arch that led out into the main garden, Sir Osmond whipping her into a canter and then a full gallop as they reached the smooth tarmac of the drive. For a moment they were out of sight, then coming back towards him. Susanna’s motion was smooth, with her breasts bouncing prettily as she ran, and Jeremy couldn’t help but admire her performance.

“Splendid, splendid!” Sir Osmond chortled as he drew the cart to a halt. “Kneel and stay. Good girl.”

The old man dismounted, patted Susanna on the head and then took a packet of sugar lumps from his pocket, offering one to her from his hand. To Jeremy’s surprise she took it between her lips. Her nipples were erect, he noticed, and her eyes looked big and moist in a way that could only mean one thing. Horrified, he realised that she was deeply aroused.

“What do you expect? ” Sir Osmond broke in on his train of thought. “Go on, dip your finger. I’ll bet a bottle of decent claret to a penny that her pussy’s dripping wet.”

Jeremy just gaped at him.

“Go on, you miserable weed, or I’ll do it myself,” his uncle snapped and began to move back towards Susanna.

“No, no,” Jeremy spoke hastily nipping around the older man and dropping to kneel beside his wife. He put his arm around her shoulders, feeling her skin wet with sweat. He had to admit that she looked enchanting with the bit in her mouth and her head constrained in the bridle. She was shivering, and when he looked questioningly at her she nodded gently. Still unsure of himself, Jeremy slid his hand under her bottom to find her sex. His felt her thick pubic hair, his finger brushing against her anus and then forward to her slit. Sure enough, her vagina was damp and his finger slid easily into the hole, Susanna giving a little moan of pleasure and pushed her bottom out to meet his hand. The upper surfaces of her bottom cheeks were covered with red marks where the whip had touched her creamy white flesh. She was by no means new to a smacked bottom and he knew the effect it had on her, yet was surprised in the circumstances. For a moment he considered masturbating her to make her come, which was obviously what she needed, but a knowing chuckle from behind stopped him and instead he kissed her and got to his feet. The finger that had been in his wife’s cunt glistened with milky fluid.

“Ripe little whore, isn’t she? ” Sir Osmond remarked. “That’ll be a penny you owe me, I think.”

 

The rest of the day was spent in practise, first with Susanna pulling the cart and then Jeremy, which he found almost unbearably humiliating. The worst thing was his uncle’s unreserved delight at Susanna’s inability to conceal the pleasure she took in applying the whip to Jeremy’s buttocks. Sir Osmond was delighted with their progress, if rather tetchy at Jeremy’s lack of enthusiasm, but by the evening he had declared them ready for a dry run in the country and spent dinner enthusiastically explaining his tactics. Susanna listened intently, making the occasional suggestion or commenting on whether her abilities were suited to his ideas. Jeremy, although amazed at his wife’s rapid conversion from frozen acceptance of her fate to sporting determination, found himself unable to resist adding the occasional contribution to the discussion.

“What we don’t know, of course,” the old man remarked towards the end of dinner, “is your reaction to the vulgar gaze of the public. We can’t have you shying at the first yokel we run into can we, my dear? No, so I’ve arranged a route for tomorrow that should get you used to public exposure as fast as possible.”

Susanna felt a lump rise in her throat. Would he make her run nude through the centre of Oxford or Abingdon? Surely not, they were bound to get arrested. Somewhere else then, but where? Sir Osmond selected a cigar and lit it, giving a nasty little chuckle as he did so.