Saturday Morning

"Saturday Morning"

It was the middle of Saturday morning before Gerald Swanley, accompanied by Miss Ashton, was able to get to the marquee in the BTW estate's grounds. By then all the pony girls were there, being prepared and pampered and generally made to look their best, in their various harnesses. Gerald stopped just inside the main entrance, and surveyed the scene happily.

"Things seem to be moving along nicely, Joan", he remarked. "The actual cross-country run isn't till after lunch, but the preparations, and a minor sub-event, ought to keep everyone busy. Now, where's that Michael Pilgrim, I hope he's still happy with us..."

"He should be, Mr Swanley", Miss Ashton replied. "Whistlejacket was happy with him, and when his trainer arrived in the evening, she was grateful for his help too." She paused, and smiled. "The three of them all went to his suite, though of course Whistlejacket had to be taken back to the stables a bit later."

Gerald pointed across the central path, to where Whistlejacket was just having her straps tightened, and some lotions rubbed into her breasts. Michael Pilgrim was holding her head-harness ready, chatting to her trainer, Lizbeth Laine, who was scrolling through some lists on her mobile phone's screen while smiling and nodding. While Whistlejacket was over six foot tall in her built-up boots, Lizbeth was around five foot four, wearing a low-cut lacy white blouse, and cream jodhpurs, plus more ordinary leather boots. Her dark hair rolled loosely halfway down her back.

Gerald and Miss Ashton walked over to join them; Lizbeth Laine put her phone down on the table, and picked up some little metal bells, while the stable girls who had been helping finished what they had been doing, and moved on to their next pony, a platinum-blonde who was not yet harnessed, although her arms, like Whistlejacket's, were already snugly secured behind her in a leather cross-arm binder, and was stamping the ground nervously with her heavy boots.

"Good morning Mr Swanley", Michael said, putting an arm around Lizbeth's shoulders. "I can't thank you enough for inviting me here - I feel as if my whole life, my whole future has changed."

"Michael was telling me about the plans to have some apartments and cottages in the grounds here, with access to your trainers and facilities", Lizbeth said happily. "If Jacket could be stabled here full-time, well, Michael and I could have an apartment, and easily commute to work in London... I know we only met last night, but, well, everything seems to click, and I could only love a man who loved my pony too."

"Our plans will take time, but we already have guest apartments, you could stay in the suite Michael has now", Gerald told them. "And how does Whistlejacket feel about all this?"

"Oh, Michael's the man for both of us, and with enough income to keep me in the way I want to be kept, Master", the pony girl replied. "I know your staff will be strict with me, but it's what I desire, and surely beats working for a living."

Lizbeth took the head-harness from Michael, and affectionately fastened it in place, the ball-gag silencing Whistlejacket.

"Which size of tail-plug will you use?" The table they were next to had five on display, with different sized of butt-plug... the larger the plug, the longer and more luxuriant the actual tail, so spectators and judges would know what each pony was tolerating. Michael gestured to the array.

"The actual race is this afternoon, darling", Lizbeth told him. "Whistlejacket is entered in this morning's event before then - it is to show how well she takes a caning on her dear rump, so a tail would be in the way. For the race, hmm, the second smallest I think, we don't want to slow her down."

The head-harness was tightly buckled now, and the bells attached to her nipple-rings. Whistlejacket managed to swing her hips in a way that seemed to indicate that she didn't like being a pony without a tail. Lizbeth fastened her leading-rein to the D-ring on the pony girl's collar, and started to lead her out towards the part of the track that was being used for the event. Michael Pilgrim, with a smile to Gerald and Miss Ashton, followed.

"They make a lovely trio", Miss Ashton commented. "No good-luck, er, 'intercourse' this morning, but I suppose she got enough of that last night."

Gerald gave a little laugh, quickly stifled. "I'm sure she did. We humans are strange, aren't we, but I'm sure that they will all be very happy with their arrangement."

Outside, the man administering the ten strokes of the cane to each pony in turn was, at the moment, Robert, who was usually in charge of transporting the wives from their homes to the estate. For appearances he wore his balaclava-style black woollen hood, with eye and mouth holes, but it was warm work, and he was often taking it off between ponies, to mop the sweat from his face. He was good at his task, ten distinct red lines would appear, one by one, on each bottom, all parallel and separate.

When Gerald and Miss Ashton joined the onlookers, Michael moved across to join them, as Lizbeth and Whistlejacket were now on the track, waiting their turn. The blonde Palomina was just being moved into position; today she wore the normal type of cross-arm binder. After the dressage, the judges had put her in fifth position, so she was determined to do well this morning. She didn't move or make a sound as each blow of the cane landed, and the crowd was quiet too, so that every stroke could be heard.

"She took that well", Michael commented, as she was led away, apparently unaffected. My god, those beats were hard, look at those lines on her!"

"Robert knows just how hard they want it", Gerald told him. "And to show no reaction - well that's good, but it's not perfect, they are meant to be flesh and blood... though we don't want to see the latter of course."

Red Rum stepped up to Robert now, and gave a little bow, before Robert moved into position, and swung the cane lightly to loosen up his overworked arm muscles. Then the first blow from the cane came, surely harder than any Palomina had received, some people swore afterwards they heard the cane whoosh through the air as well as thwack into her defenceless rear. Red Rum flinched, and seemed ready to lose her balance for an instant, but was ready in time for the next blow, and the next, until all ten had been received - and then she turned, nodded an acknowledgement to the watching crowd, and was led back into the marquee.

"She flinched, I thought at one stage she would fall", Michael commented quietly to his companions. "How does that play with the judges?"

"They don't release their scores on this until afterwards", Gerald told him, "But I'd mark her higher. This isn't a big part of the whole event, it's only 5 possible points per judge, but I'd put her about half a point each above Palomina."

Lizbeth led Whistlejacket out next, and she too gave Robert, who'd just replaced his hood after wiping his face with a handkerchief, a small bow of respect. It was up to Robert to judge how hard each pony should be caned, and they could see him smile, and this time his warming-up swing was larger, and for the first stroke, he raised the cane higher. There was a definite whooshing noise, and a loud thwack as the cane hit home; Whistlejacket's flinch was almost a little jump, but she was obviously in no danger of losing her balance, and was still and ready for the second blow, and each subsequent one, her flanks and breasts jiggling, the bells attached to her nipples tinkling.

"Oh I say", Gerald breathed, as Whistlejacket turned, after the tenth blow, and went down on one knee to Robert, her head bowed submissively. "I've never... that girl's a world-class pony, my word on it..."

The next pony girl wore a leather hood with no eye-holes, and had a bit between her teeth rather than a ball-gag, but Michael, Gerald and Miss Ashton turned away and headed back into the marquee, which seemed dark for a moment after the strong sunshine outside. Lizbeth Laine was already applying an ointment to the lines on Whistlejacket's bottom, and the pony girl was leaning against the table, letting it take some of her weight. She was shivering slightly, perhaps from the coolness of the ointment, or perhaps in reaction to the pain she had received.

"Miss Laine, that was simply excellent, you're a most proficient trainer", Gerald told her candidly. "Whistlejacket's performance was faultless."

"She does all the work", Lizbeth replied, still massaging the ointment in, causing her pony to make little grunting noises. "But for both of us, thank you, Mr Swanley."

Michael Pilgrim still seemed slightly stunned by the whole thing, but finally asked, "And that's all, until after lunch...?"

Lizbeth had unbuckled her pony girl's head-harness, now, and brought a water-bottle across, to allow her a drink. "I've asked the girls to feed this one some pasta and fruit, she'll need the energy this afternoon - but perhaps the four of us can head off somewhere local for our own meal, yes?"