Show-Jumping

"Show Jumping"

The course had been laid out in the central area of the oval track, with the workers finishing their task during the Sunday lunch break. In theory it was a "show-jumping" set-up, but the designer knew that, while they have much to recommend them, pony girls are not as good at leaping over fences as specially bred horses are, so the "jumps" were low, and there were parts that more resembled a simple obstacle course. Though not quite as simple as it might seem, to a pony girl in the heavy heel-less boots they wore, and with her arms tightly secured behind her back.

Gerald Swanley was walking around the grassy area, while the stewards were putting some heavy matting over the track itself, to protect it from the people who'd soon be using it to watch from; Gerald himself was watching Miss Ashton, who was "walking the course", fully clothed and wearing Wellington boots, and making a few scribbled notes on his clip-board.

"I do feel a bit, well, exposed, doing this", Miss Ashton said, as she zig-zagged around a series of flexible upright poles. "Though not as much as our naked pony girls will be, I suppose." She jumped nimbly over a 'fence' made out of bricks so lightweight a strong wind would blow them away; it was no more than eighteen inches high. Then she gingerly stepped into a water-filled trench, and waded along it for a few yards, careful not to make any waves which might come above the top of her wellies.

"I thought asking you to dress up, or down, for the occasion would be overdoing things", Gerald told her with mock gravity. "The footing in that pond isn't too slippery?"

Miss Ashton stopped, and tried to skid a boot along the base, then bent down, and used her fingers for further checks. "The rubber-coated plastic liner is fine, not slippery at all."

"You know, next time I'll change the order, assuming we do more of these pony girl three-day events, which I think we will. The track racing this morning would have made a far more dramatic final event - and I go and schedule it while half our people were having their Sunday morning lie-in!"

"Well the conventional horsey three-day events end with the show-jumping, so it was a natural decision", Miss Ashton told Gerald. "But yes, we're learning as we go along; next time, chariot racing for the win, as they say." She used a tissue to dry her hand, and stepped out of the water, onto the first of eight numbered 'hopscotch' paving stones. "I suppose doing this against the clock, with time penalties for a mis-step or putting a fence down, ought to be interesting to watch, but we're unlikely to get as much whistling and cheering." She leapt over another jump, which had a white-painted pole precariously balanced horizontally, about twenty inches off the ground, and moved on to that staple of any junior obstacle course, a dozen tires that had to have a foot put in the centre of each in turn. And then she reached the final jump, two more white poles, eighteen inches off the ground and ten inches apart.

"The winnah!" Gerald shouted, rather quietly but full of mock enthusiasm. "We start with the lowest ponies on the list and end with the highest, since that's the closest to tension we can manage, but if they don't beat", he consulted his timer, "four minutes and ten seconds, you'll be the one doing a victory lap."

"Remind me, Mr Swanley, are you eight years old, or in your forties?"

Lizbeth Laine stood on the track nearby, back in her white blouse, cream jodhpurs, and well-polished boots. "All men are eight years old, Joan, hadn't you realised that yet? Most of them are seventeen, too, but that's another story."

Gerald gave a brief but hearty chuckle. "I'm deeply wounded, your barbs have hit home, my dear. There are already some fine photographs of you as 'Condom-Woman' on Facebook, by the way, but of course, I'm relieved to say, without any clues to the location, or any names attached."

"Okay, that wasn't my finest fashion choice ever, it just seemed that transparent latex fitted the 'naked or naughtier' dress code for that - darn the shop for suggesting that tint to it!" She gave a brief pout, before smiling again. "Anyway, we riders, jockeys, drivers or charioteers have an easy afternoon of it, this particular round is just for our ponies."

"Another reason not to end with it, in future." Gerald sighed. "How is Whistlejacket now? Fully recovered?"

"I think so", Lizbeth told him. "A rather long soak in a lukewarm bath, then a rub-down and some more of that magic lotion, followed by me hand-feeding her a roast chicken lunch, has her fighting fit and in fine fettle. I left her studying the map of the course you provided everyone with."

"One advantage of her previous wins is that it means she goes last, so has another hour before she has to perform", Miss Ashton put in. "Looking at the points, she could knock over three fences, and take more than the basic two minutes by about fifteen seconds, and still take the pair of you to victory, even if Red Rum did an absolutely perfect round."

"Don't tempt fate, please", Lizbeth said, knocking her knuckle lightly against a convenient wooden fence post.

Michael Pilgrim strolled over to join them. "This show-jumping doesn't mean the ponies giving their charioteers a piggy-back ride, then? Shame."

Lizbeth aimed a playful punch at Michael's shoulder. "We have actually tried that a few times, Whistlejacket is quite strong enough, but that's more of, um, an indoor sport. Somewhere indoors with plenty of headroom", she added, absently rubbing the top of her head. "You can actually buy special very expensive fetish saddles, but that's a rather awkward pose, and as far as I know none of the main pony girl events go for that, in Europe at least."

"Changing the subject slightly, Gerald..." Michael looked around to make sure nobody else was near. "Do you actually perform weddings here, by any chance?"

"We do have a licence, yes", Gerald told him. "And the local Church of England vicar has been happy to officiate - I'm sure he's somewhere around, if you'd like to speak to him."

"Wonderful", Lizbeth smiled. "I'd want Whistlejacket there, in her full pony girl gear, and that would be hard to arrange, in most churches."

"I can imagine", Michael said, with a grin.

"This is great news", Gerald said, trying to sound surprised. "We can arrange for the bride to arrive, and the pair of you to leave, in a rather fine carriage drawn by six pony girls - including Whistlejacket, if you like. You'd have to change to a car just before the main gates, though."

"Hmm, if I can give up my job..." Lizbeth sounded thoughtful. "I'd need to give a month's notice, but I have two weeks holiday owing..."

"My salary ought to be enough", Michael chipped in... "The annual bonus is pretty good too."

"But how boring is that, for me?"

"Well", Gerald began, "You're a pony girl expert, we always need more trainers here - work for BTW on the estate here, and the problem is solved, though there is one thing I ought to mention right away."

"I'd be 'Mistress Lizbeth'? That wouldn't work would it, it trips lightly off the tongue and falls flat on its face. 'Mistress Bethany', would that do?"

"The name is available, but we do have one rule when we employ a new trainer - they have to go through the course as a trainee, for a month, so that they understand fully how the training works." Gerald looked solemn. "Unless they've already been a 'better trained wife', of course."

"So I'd be at the mercy of a group of sex-mad, bondage-crazy lesbian dominatrices for four whole weeks...?" Lizbeth paused for dramatic effect. "Is there a downside to this that I'm not seeing...?"

* * * * * *

The actual show-jumping began with the fortieth-placed pony girl; the ones lower down the list would each be given enough points automatically to maintain their places, and had been mustered in one of the larger permanent rooms of the stables, for a different task. Number forty did actually manage a clear round, though there were a couple of points where a steward had to show her the route to take, and another steward did steady her once when it seemed she might fall over. Such assistance didn't involve a penalty, though it probably slowed her down a little.

Lizbeth brought Whistlejacket out to watch the last few ponies before her turn, and pointed to the route on their map again, which WJ studied carefully. Palomina wasn't the first pony to have the misfortune to fall over in the water trench, but a pair of stewards were on high alert there and immediately lifted her out and put her back on her feet. She coughed and spluttered a little, but kept going, and managed to finish within the time allowed, with one fence down. Sparkle also knocked down one fence, and would have fallen if a steward hadn't steadied her; Red Rum however performed flawlessly, with the fastest round yet seen.

"Don't try to beat her time, that's an order", Lizbeth said as she unleashed Whistlejacket's leading rein at the starting line. Take it steady, take it safely, even if you demolish three fences we'll still win."

The buzzer sounded, and Whistlejacket started her round, jumping the first fence easily - with the pony boots, landing safely was the trickiest bit, and she managed that, moving on swiftly to the second fence, and then slaloming around the set of vertical poles, hopping over the next fence, stepping carefully into the water, wading along, stepping out, and approaching the hopscotch squares, which she stepped on in the correct order.

The next fence had the easily-dislodged pole as its top, and Whistlejacket's boot did give it an audible tap... but it wasn't dislodged, and, bringing her knees up as high as in parts of the dressage, she went through the tire section. The final jump had two poles, but she cleared them easily, as the bell sounded to show she had completed the course. She stumbled slightly after landing, but Michael was there to catch her, and hold her tightly.

"That was our overall winner, Whistlejacket", the Tannoy announced, "a clear round, and a fraction of a second faster than even Red Rum, ladies and gentlemen!"

Lizbeth had reached the pair now, and joined in the communal hug. Gerald brought over a rather impressive silver trophy, in the shape of a hoofed pony girl boot on a black wooden base, and presented it to Lizbeth, while Michael continued to make sure WJ could stand steadily.

The crowd, applauding, moved back as a splendid old-fashioned open-topped carriage was drawn up on the track next to them, with no less than eight of the lower-order pony girls harnessed to it. Lizbeth got in, and then helped Whistlejacket up beside her, swiftly pulling out her tail-plug so that they could sit side by side. There was still a little room, so Lizbeth gestured for Michael to join them; once he was safely on board, the driver cracked her whip, and the carriage drove all round the track, with Lizbeth and Michael waving happily to the applauding crowd, and Whistlejacket, looking very happy, nodding and bouncing up and down.

So that was the end of the event. There were some other teams of pony girls pulling various carriages, traps and carts, just as an exhibition, but the spectators started to drift away, either to the tea tent or where their cars were parked. Naked pony girls, still in their harnesses, were led to the vans that had brought them; other girls, some of the part-timers, were now fully clothed and almost unrecognizable, chatting with friends, drinking tea and eating cream scones, or heading for their own cars.

Gerald Swanley was kept busy chatting to everyone, smiling, shaking hands, and making little jokes about this and that, with Miss Ashton never far away. He went into the tea tent, and had a cup of Earl Grey tea, in a real white cup and with an old-fashioned saucer; he even had a cucumber sandwich, though, with the amount of talking he had to do, it took a while to get through that, and the last of the tea was only slightly warm by the time he drained the cup.

"Well, it seems that the event was a success, plenty of people were saying 'See you next time'", he commented at last to Miss Ashton. "Oh, there's the vicar, I must have a quick word, about Lizbeth and Michael's wedding."

"And Whistlejacket's", Miss Ashton added. I don't know about Princess Diana, but that will definitely be a marriage with three people in it, and a successful one too, if I'm any judge."

* * * * * *

The suite of rooms Lizbeth and Michael were occupying only had one bedroom, but that had not proved to be any sort of drawback; there was a small kitchen, a quite large cupboard with a few D-rings firmly screwed into its walls, and a large living room, with a big soft leather-covered sofa and a pair of matching armchairs. A big plasma tv screen was supplied, along with a blu-ray player and a few discs, but the system wasn't switched on - instead, Lizbeth and Michael were just sitting on the sofa, talking, with Whistlejacket sitting on the floor between them, leaning back against the sofa, with Lizbeth gently stroking her hair.

Whistlejacket wasn't wearing her pony girl harness, and her pony boots were standing by the door; she still had her cross-arm binder on, though. Michael was just wearing loose knitted boxer shots, while Lizbeth was wearing her 'baby doll nightie' costume, which highlighted rather than concealed her body's most interesting bits.

"So, I think we've got the timetable sorted out", Lizbeth was saying. "It's August the 7th today, and Whistlejacket will take up full-time training here right away, just emailing her resignation in - while I hand in my notice tomorrow, claim my holiday entitlement, and should be back here in two weeks, late on Friday 19th... the wedding follows on Saturday 27th, held here, with WJ as my chief bridesmaid, in full pony girl rig."

"Is there any chance of a white leather harness?" Whistlejacket asked. "A white ball-gag and feathery crest too would be great. And I want to help you choose your wedding dress, something really like a fairy tale, not naughty at all...it's your big day, you don't need to have your tits on view."

"I think I like her better with her ball-gag in", Michael said wryly, and stroked her hair affectionately. "But seriously, I agree with our little pony, I'll be dressed in my best suit, I'll hire a grey top hat, and I want you to be all respectable and beautiful and radiant, for our big day."

"I wasn't sure, but if you both think I should be a traditional bride, rather than give that condom costume another outing, then I'm in", Lizbeth said, her hand stroking Michael's. "We save the honeymoon for later, and after our wedding night, I get dragged off crying and screaming to spend four weeks getting trained to be an ideal wife." She made an exaggerated grimace.

"Every dominant has a dash of submissive in her", Whistlejacket said softly. "You'll hate it, but you'll enjoy it too." She shifted slightly, contentedly, enjoying the luxury of relaxation, and having her hair stroked so gently. "I guess I could be dominant, if I needed to be - but I'm happier in my binder."

"Be sure, Whistlejacket, that I love both of you, you are both wonderful girls, and I want you both to be happy together and happy with me", Michael said. "Do you have another name, by the way, that I should use sometimes, or have you always been named after an eighteenth century racehorse? It must have been tricky at school."

She chuckled. "Oh, I've given up on that, and I'll do something really vile to Beth if she ever tells you - but have you seen that Stubbs painting, isn't that stallion just magnificent? That glorious light chestnut colour, that wonderful tail..."

"A bushier, longer tail means a bigger butt-plug, hun", Lizbeth said gently. "We'll train you up for it, size by size... and Robert will be handling your training as far as taking the cane goes, with twelve strokes, three times a week."

"Mmm," Whistlejacket said, her voice a bit dreamy. "I might need some of Michael's 'lucky fucky' attention to get me through that, do you think...?"

"Whatever you need, Gorgeous", Michael assured her. "But, since I'll have to return to London in the morning... Lizbeth, you'll be okay to come down here next weekend...?"

"Will I ever, after a last-but-one week as a wage slave! You'll be driving down?"

"Yup - we need to synch our phones, maybe we can meet up in an evening or two as well, we still have so much to learn about each other... though it seems a pity that our pony girl will be stuck down here."

"You two have fun, I'm sure I'll be fine - once everything is sorted out, this will be so great..."

There was a knock on the door - when they buzzed it open, Gerald came in. "Sorry it took so long, but I've been on to the builders, and your apartment over the the stables will take no more than seven weeks from dusty storage area to state-of-the-art living area, and they can start preliminary work on Wednesday - so just about as soon as Lizbeth finishes her training, you'll be able to move in... unless the builder's estimate is a bit optimistic, of course, which I believe has been known to happen."

"Wonderful - I'll be able to sneak Whistlejacket upstairs for a little extra training, and keep an eye on the other fillies", Lizbeth said. "It doesn't matter if it takes an extra week or so, if you let us keep these rooms until then."

"Yes, please go ahead, Gerald, your price seems fair, and it's obviously what these two want", Michael Pilgrim said, putting one arm round Lizbeth's shoulders, while still stroking Whistlejacket's hair. "I'm sure WJ will be a world-class pony girl before long... well, I think she is already, but I could be biased."

"Well, I'll head off, and get the contract sent to your office in the morning", Gerald said, smiling broadly. "I think all three of you are going to be big assets to this place, so it's wonderful to have you with us."

They watched him go, and looked at the closed door for a moment. It was Whistlejacket who broke the brief silence. "You know, I think I need to store up a whole lot of luck for the coming week..."

"Oh, I agree", Lizbeth said. "Michael can have the front end, to begin with, and I'll get my best strap-on... do you want to have your arms free, hun?"

Whistlejacket watched as Lizbeth got the strap-on dildo out of her suitcase, and started adjusting the buckles; she sat up, and her gaze flicked across to Michael, who was slipping off his boxer shorts. She saw that he was already reasonably excited; and seeing Lizbeth add some lubricant to the dildo, a fairly substantial chunk of black plastic, she felt some warm sensations starting up inside her, too.

"Oh, no thanks, darling - I like things just the way they are!"