Chapter 6

In Which a Variety ofTactics are Tested

 

 

Croom, turning in his seat to gloat over the loosing cart, saw Susanna pulled up at the gate and immediately drew on Arrabella’s reins. The triplets came to a halt as he opened his map and searched for the right place.

“What the hell are they up to?” he said. “Hang on, what’s this thin black line across the river?”

The key revealed that the symbol indicated a weir. Just above it the river became much wider. Croom paused. If a crossing was possible and he didn’t try it, Jeremy would gain an unassailable lead. On the other hand, if the crossing was not possible he’d loose nothing by checking as he’d still have the advantage on the road. Turning thought into action he pulled the team in a tight circle and made for the gate which Jeremy was carefully closing behind him. Leaping from the cart as the triplets reached the gate, he reached for the catch, only to find that Jeremy had secured it with a hideous tangle of knotted bailing twine. He cursed as a carefully manicured fingernail broke on the tough orange string.

 

Jeremy, wishing to honour the rules but reasoning that even if the pony wasn’t allowed to talk there was nothing wrong with the rider talking to the pony, explained his idea to Susanna as she struggled to pull the cart through the field. The land had been left fallow and ripe grass seed was sticking to her skin and catching in her pussy hair, while the occasional half-hidden thistle pricked her calves and knees. She sighed with relief when they reached the river, plunging in the moment Jeremy dismounted. She immediately sank to her knees in mud, but the water was blissfully cool, lapping against the tuck of her bottom and then up to her waist as she plunged deeper. The wooden cart began to float as the water reached her neck, and for moment she thought she would be unable to make it, only to find the bottom rising once more.

Jeremy splashed in behind her,having hurled most of his clothes and map across in a bundle. He crossed the river with a few clean strokes and then turning to help his wife. Susanna’s feet found firm gravel as Jeremy took her hand and she stood up, feeling deliciously clean and refreshed, boobs just clear of the water surface with her nipples standing stiffly to attention. Unfortunately the far bank was steep, so that they had to wade upstream until they reached a point under a massive beech tree were cows came down to drink.

Susanna made a wry face at the sight what she was going to have to wade through, but pushed gamely on, quickly finding herself calf deep in muck. Just as she was about to reach dryer ground, her foot slipped and she sat down full in the mess, smearing her freshly cleaned pussy and bottom cheeks with an ample helping of cow dung and mud. She swore through the bit and then pushed it out to speak.

“It’s all up my bum!” she protested disgustedly to Jeremy. “Hold on, I’ve got to wash.”

“There’s no time!” Jeremy replied pointing across the river. “They’re coming.”

Susanna turned to see their rivals on the far side of the river. She scrambled up, extricating herself and the cart from the muck but remaining plastered in slurry from the waist down. Jeremy ran to retrieve his clothes, dressing frantically and then turning back to see why Croom hadn’t attempted the river. The triplets were pulled up at the edge, their master standing by and looking between the river, his clearly expensive white cotton summer suit and the vile sludge on the far side.

“I say truce!” he called over to Jeremy. “How deep’s the river? ”

“Pretty,” Jeremy called back. “Susanna was to her neck.”

“I take it your cart floats?” Croom asked a trace of irritation in his voice.

“Yes of course, it’s made of wood.”

“Sod it! Mine’ll sink!” Croom cursed and made for his cart, reining the triplets around and making hell-for-leather for the gate, each elegant rear getting a taste of the whip in turn as they balked at a particularly large patch of thistles. .

“Let’s go,” Jeremy said as he boarded the cart. “That gives us a good mile’s lead, more if he sticks to the road. We should do it if we keep our pace up. Make for those trees.”

Susanna set off, trying her best to ignore the slimy mess in the crack of her bottom and down her legs. A little dirt wouldn’t hurt her, and it certainly wasn’t worth risking twenty-thousand pounds for. They reached the trees and negotiated a small style, finding a muddy track beyond. Out of sight of Croom and the possibility of being observed by Miss Chertsey, Jeremy dismounted and helped Susanna with the cart despite a pang of guilt at breaking the rules. The hill was steeper than he had anticipated and the deeply rutted track made going difficult as they worked their way towards the top.

 

Croom meanwhile was driving his team furiously along the road, all three ponies running sweat and breathing hard, each perfect bottom red and smarting from his whip strokes. As Jeremy and Susanna reached the crest of the hill, he was turning over the bridge, tearing the map in his desperation to find a better route. A possibility struck him immediately. The map marked a large house of some sort with paved tracks leading both to Steeple Dunning and to the road he was on. Given that there were only dirt tracks near where Jeremy and Susanna had crossed the river it had to give him a chance.

A sign came into view. “Bournefields Estate - Private” he read. Another sign, of more temporary appearance, announced something about a conference but Croom paid no heed, not caring who was there as long as the shortcut offered him a chance to win.

“Left ahead.” he called, pulling on Arrabella’s reins and steering the triplets through the massive arch that marked the estate entrance. “Now ride hard.”

A couple of whip strokes returned the triplets to full speed, Croom calling encouragement and glancing nervously at his watch. They were in carefully cultivated parkland, rhododendron bushes growing thick on each side between the trunks of massive oaks and limes. Ahead of them a line of curiously dressed walkers came into view. Nuns, he realised even as the last of them turned to see what the commotion was behind her.

“Clear the road!” Croom yelled, catching Christobel a cracking stroke across her already well smacked bottom as her step faltered. “Out of my way, damn you!”

Nuns scattered in all directions, starring at Croom as if he were the devil himself. Croom aimed a stroke at a temptingly rounded section of habit. The whip connected, drawing an indignant yelp from the nun, Croom realising too late that he had leaned too far out from the cart. For a moment the cart hung poised on one wheel, Britannia looking around in panic as her shaft rose unexpectedly, then Croom lost his balance, pitching headlong onto the road and releasing a volley of curses. The triplets regained control of the cart, giggling as their master picked himself up from the road and ruefully inspected a grazed hand.

“Bloody penguins!” Croom swore at the rapidly fleeing nuns. “Sorry about that, I got a bit carried away there. Right, let’s go.”

The triplets took the strain again as the whip snapped against Arrabella’s rear. The drive took a sharp turn, joined with another and opened out into a imposing avenue of limes set in a broad meadow and ending at a magnificent house.

“Jesus!” Croom breathed, appropriately enough as the entire area in front of them was swarming with people, nuns, monks, curates, vicars, priests of every denomination and rank, even a stately cardinal strolling between the limes with a beatific smile that changed to outrage when his eyes focused on the naked triplets.

“Christ,” Croom added, momentarily nonplussed as the triplets pace faltered and they came to a stop. All around them heads began to turn, mouths dropping open at the sight of the cart and it’s rider, but most of all at the three gloriously naked girls, bodies streaked with sweat and bottoms as red as cherries. Silence spread like a wave over the assembly until the whole scene was frozen, two thousand faces starring at four.

The scene held for a second, then Christobel gave a nervous laugh, breaking the spell on Croom.

“Ride for it!” he bellowed, applying the whip to Britannia’s backside, then Arrabella’s, then to the hand of an determined young priest who had made the mistake of reaching for part of Christobel’s harness.

“Go like hell!” Croom screamed, sending the man’s beretta flying with another swipe. The triplets needed no encouragement. On all sides outraged men of God were closing in on them, assuming the intrusion to be a deliberate and calculated outrage aimed at them. The team were sprinting in no time, Croom for once deciding that the best target for his whip was not girl’s bottoms but anything even vaguely ecclesiastical that came within striking range. They tore down the avenue, Croom striking to either side, his face red with fury.

Directly in front of them a tall, stern figure was blocking the path, his hand raised in a commanding gesture, the expression on his face broking no disagreement.

“Stop immediately,” the man ordered, his voice the very essence of authority.

Arrabella though, had only one master, the man behind her with the whip and her reins in his hands. Her pace never faltered, the man leaping to the side as he realised that the alternative was to be ploughed under by the team.

“We’re away!” Croom called as the man rolled onto the grass and a final slash cleared the last two pursuers from behind the cart. “Keep it up, we’re nearly through! ”

The triplets surged forward with renewed energy. Ahead of them a knot of around twenty black clad figures had formed, blocking the path. Arrabella didn’t even hesitate, aiming dead centre for the group, her muscles aching as she strained for more speed.

“Give way, blast you!” Croom raged as they hit. A heavy set young curate took one look at his face and decided to heed the warning, but another made a grab for Britannia’s arm.

“Get your hands off her or by Satan I’ll take the whip to you!” Croom yelled.” Kick him Britannia! Fine shot! Back, you oily bible-basher! ”

For a moment Britannia faltered, stumbled, then found her feet and they were through, Croom lashing out viciously as they passed but failing to connect.

“Clear!” he crowed as the open drive stretched in front of them. Croom turned and shook his fist, cackling demonically, then realised that there were at least a hundred assorted priests still in pursuit. “Shit. Keep going girls, it’s not over yet! ”

Arrabella glanced back then set her face determinedly to the front. The girls were supremely fit and the pursuers replete with food and mostly hampered by unwieldy religious garments, yet they had already run two miles and had the cart to pull.

“Make for that arch.” Croom instructed, risking a leap from the cart and landing at a run. “It must lead to the back drive.”

The girls’ pace immediately increased as he sprinted ahead, reaching the massive gates and wrenching the heavy iron stops free even as the triplets came through. He slammed the first gate, then the second, shooting the bolt home even as a body crashed against it. The girls were disappearing through an arch at the far side of the old stable-yard he had entered, Croom followed.

Furious cries of “Through the house!” and “No, around the back!” reached him from beyond the gate as he fled.