Cross-Country

"Cross-Country"

When Gerald Swanley, Miss Ashton, Michael Pilgrim, and Lizbeth Laine got back to the pony girl arena after lunch, which they'd had in what Gerald called "the staff canteen" in the main house, rather than in the catering tent, the area seemed busier than ever - and the first pony girls were being harnessed up to their carts, or "chariots", by a number of the stable girls and their helpers

Certainly the two-wheel trailers looked a bit more like something out of Ben Hur than an old-fashioned "pony and trap", though the designs varied. As this was to be a race, the weight of the chariots was standardized; the drivers, jockeys or riders were being weighed too, as at any racecourse, though the lighter riders kept an advantage as only half their lack of weight, below a certain standard level, had to be offset by weights added to their chariot's back.

Whistlejacket was being put into a different harness this time, with the broad, padded leather belt needed to allow her to pull her chariot. Her boots were the same tightly-laced, heel-less pair. She smiled broadly when the others approached, and looked directly at Michael. "Master, you're just in time, if you could, er, you know...?"

Lizbeth laughed. "Didn't you get enough last night? Well, if Michael is agreeable, you can have a quick 'lucky fucky' I guess, you naughty girl."

"I'm an animal, I know", the pony girl agreed happily, and moved to the convenient table, leaning forward and presenting her rear, with an expectant wiggle. She hadn't yet had her tail-plug added.

Lizbeth turned to Michael. "No need for a condom, now that we know you", she said. "Boy, do we both know you! She's been tied off, so there's no risk of any little offspring catching us out."

Needing no further encouragement, Michael unzipped his fly and freed his erection. He teasingly lined it up with Whistlejacket's anus for a moment, pushing slightly, before moving a few inches to his intended target, and going in hard, causing her to gasp and buck slightly, which added to the stimulation for both of them. To begin with he didn't hurry once he was in, taking his time, but things soon speeded up, and they both reached a climax together.

"Save some for me later", Lizbeth commented, as she used a tissue to clean off Michael's penis before he put it away. Gerald and Miss Ashton had been carefully not watching, but looking around the tent; Gerald saw that their activity wasn't the only sexual excitement, the mixture of naked female flesh and leather bonds was as usual a powerful incentive.

Lizbeth put some lubricant onto the tail's plug end, and slid it firmly into position, before getting the crotch straps sorted out and holding it firmly in place. The head-harness this time was different too, with an open-weave ball-gag, to allow easy breathing during the run, and a feathery plume on top of the pony's head. Each pony had similar plumes; Whistlejacket's was yellow, with white highlights, while most of them were orange, and some pink. The blinkers were quite large, so that she could only see straight ahead.

Once her pony was fully strapped up, Lizbeth hurried off for her weigh-in, and a pair of stable girls led Whistlejacket over to her chariot, with its white-painted curved wooden front, open sides, higher padded back, and single seat, plus anchor points for a "seat belt" the charioteer would wear. The wheels had thin metal spokes like a bicycle's, but, as today's course was along paths and grass around the BTW estate, the tires were broader, presenting almost three inches of rubber to the ground. A couple of slender metal shafts about eighteen inches apart pointed forward.

An assistant to the judges walked over with Lizbeth, who was still wearing her white blouse and cream jodhpurs, but now wore trainers instead of her boots. He was carrying some metal sheets, each roughly the size of a paperback book; he slid them into a pocket set into the back of the chariot, and used a padlock to secure them there. "Okay, Miss Laine", he said. "That's your weight handicap seen to - you're due to start in six minutes, so you'd better get your pony hitched up, and move on out onto the track."

A stable girl picked up the end of one of the metal shafts, and lifted them up, while Lizbeth carefully moved her pony girl between them, and began hooking up the D-rings on Whistlejacket's belt to the similar attachments on the poles. The reins were attached to the head harness. Once that was done, she put on her white leather safety belt, climbed into the chariot with the assistance of Gerald's arm, and attached her belt to its moorings. She could sit, or stand in a slight crouch, but she couldn't fall out of the chariot.

"Shouldn't you wear a helmet or something, darling?" Michael Pilgrim sounded suddenly anxious. It was a race, after all, and the chariot, light and built for speed, suddenly looked awfully flimsy.

"None of us do, Michael", she replied, giving the reins a little twitch. "Don't worry, I have done this before, you know!"

Putting her head down, Whistlejacket moved forward, took the strain, and got the chariot moving slowly, towards the exit leading to the track. Lizbeth was seated now, letting her pony do the work. She had a whip she could use, but that was mainly for show, or to make a noise, she knew her pony would put her heart into the race.

"The ponies and their chariots start on the oval track, and end on it too, but there's a five-mile course, across fields and through the woods", Gerald told Michael, as they and Miss Ashton moved out of the tent too. A few spectators and assistant judges go out to watch, but we have some cameras rigged up, with feeds to the screen outside, so staying by the finishing line is the best idea. The path isn't wide, so it's a timing thing, the contestants set off at 30 second intervals."

Sure enough, a screen just inside the oval track was showing one of the first chariots racing through a clearing in the woods, and then slowing down to go across a small stream. The rider used her whip as soon as they were clear of the water, and the pony picked up speed quickly.

Palomina's chariot began its race then. Her male rider was slim but he was tall, so she was carrying rather a lot of weight, but she got up speed quickly, and went through the gateway onto the open track at a confident rate. Red Rum pulled her chariot out onto the track; her girl looked smaller and lighter than Lizbeth, and when she waved at her, her middle finger seemed slightly more prominent than was polite.

Another pony and chariot set off now, and Lizbeth gently urged Whistlejacket forward onto the starting line, where one of the judges made sure her booted feet were in the right place, and kept a hand on her side as he looked at his stopwatch. "Three, two, one, away!" He stepped back, Lizbeth cracked her whip above her pony's head, narrowly avoiding damage to her crest, and the time trial race was on.

* * * * *

Balance was everything in a run like this, and when things went smoothly, most things were Whistlejacket's responsibility. Lizbeth Laine did have a brake she could use, and also a small tiller control to help on the sharper bends, but the course was well-marked and the ground smoothly grassed, so the pony girl leaned forward, pulled hard, and pumped her legs, reveling in the feeling of the air rushing past, the sound of the wheels rumbling, the receding cheers from the arena. Her breasts jogged up and down, the little bells tinkling wildly; she could feel the tail's butt-plug, the tight straps, the belt that connected her to her chariot.

Lizbeth was sitting now, crouching forward, gently twitching the reins and looking ahead. They were definitely closing on the previous chariot, but it didn't look as if they would actually catch them until they were in the first wooded area, where the path was too narrow for overtaking. "Faster, girl", she shouted, "We must get past that pair before the wood!"

"Well use the whip, then", Whistlejacket thought to herself, and concentrated on pumping her legs harder, relying on and trusting Lizbeth to make sure they kept their balance on a curve - Lizbeth leaned into it, one wheel briefly left the ground, and then they were on the straight again, and closing on the previous pair...the jockey looked back, saw them, shouted something to her pony... and moved aside to let our chariot pass, with a wave and a smile.

They went through the woods full tilt, occasionally slapped by small branches, and were soon approaching the stream. Whistlejacket slowed only very slightly, taking the water at almost full speed - one wheel hit a small rock or a large pebble, and for one sickening moment, caught on the big screen back at the arena, it looked as if the chariot would overbalance, but Lizbeth flung herself to that side and leaned out as far as she could, and after three seconds, which seemed more like three hours, the tire hit the ground again, just as the chariot sped out of the stream, bounced once, and settled, with Lizbeth quickly sitting back in the middle.

As they emerged from the woods, Red Rum and her chariot could be seen only about ten seconds ahead. The charioteer didn't turn and see them, or hear them over the rumble of her wheels and the pounding of her pony's hoofbeats, but was using her whip anyway. Lizbeth used her whip too, catching Whistlejacket a perfect, glancing blow right across her rump, immediately regretting it, and then doing it twice more, and the pony took the hint, pumping her legs even faster. The gap began to close...

The two chariots were close to the oval track now, and, with Lizbeth and Whistlejacket only a length behind, at last Red Rum's charioteer realised she was being caught, and used her whip again, shouting a curse, so that her chariot got through the open gateway onto the track just ahead. There was just around 200 metres to go to the finish, or 220 yards, and Red Rum hugged the inside of the track. Her strides were long, her head rolled from side to side with the effort - but Whistlejacket was in the track's next lane, and had almost caught up with the other chariot's back.

People were shouting and cheering, as the time trial turned into a thrilling race - the stewards were hurriedly clearing the previous arrivals off the track, seeing that both these chariots would arrived full pelt. Michael Pilgrim was yelling something, he never did remember what, Miss Ashton was jumping in the air and clapping, and Gerald Swanley bellowed "Come on ladies!" at the top of his voice.

Only 100 metres left, and, despite having to take the longer course, Whistlejacket was level with the charioteer, and then level with the front of the chariot. Red Rum's driver's whip flicked towards Whistlejacket, but Lizbeth's whip caught it and deflected it... and then the two pony girls crossed the line absolutely neck and neck, with the cheering and clapping even louder.

Both chariots took a "lap of honour", which was just as well as braking safely from top speed would have taken a while; any enmity forgotten, the two drivers leaned across to give each other a "high five" on the back straight, and then did it again as they reached the finishing line again, with the pony girls slowing gently.

Lizbeth Laine unbuckled her safety belt, and threw the reins to one of the stable girls, then jumped down onto the track, finding her knees slightly unreliable - but Michael was there to catch and hug her, lifting her up. "That was so astounding", he told her, and then kissed her thoroughly, before letting her go as Gerald joined him.

Someone passed a large bottle of mineral water to Lizbeth, and she took a deep swig. "It was, wasn't it - but Whistlejacket was the fantastic one, all I had to do was hang on!" She smiled broadly. "I need a shower, I'm sweating like a pig, and I wet myself when we nearly went over in the stream...but darn I'm horny!"

Whistlejacket had been unhitched from the chariot now, and was led over to them by Miss Ashton. The pony girl was covered in sweat, panting, her face flushed pink; she still had the head-harness on, including the open-weave ball-gag, but Lizbeth tipped up the water bottle to direct a stream at her mouth. Some was gratefully gulped down, and a whole lot more frothed down her front, so that Miss Ashton had to move back. Dropping the bottle and ignoring the water, Lizbeth hugged her pony girl, her face lodged between Whistlejacket's breasts and chin, and stayed like that, sharing her sweat and her pounding heart, for approximately two minutes.

Gerald had a word with the judges, and also chatted briefly to Miss Ashton, before returning, looking exceptionally happy. "I know we've talked about Whistlejacket being fully trained here by our staff - I was going to leave this until tomorrow, but BTW UK would be honoured if you would allow us to sponsor you by making Whistlejacket's accommodation and training absolutely free - along with travel to international events, which you are surely qualified for now."

"That sounds great", Lizbeth said immediately. "But can we leave it until later? I've got to get my dear pony girl showered, rubbed down, and horizontal for a well-deserved rest... and then, with Michael's help, get myself something similar, though perhaps going easy on the resting bit."

"A charioteer's helper... I think I've just been promoted", Michael Pilgrim commented. "This is certainly turning out to be a very special weekend."

"That it is, darling - and it isn't over yet!"