Sunday Morning

"Sunday Morning"

The final part of the pony girl "three-day event" was scheduled to start after lunch on Sunday, but for that percentage of the population who were used to rising before noon then, there was a competition to attend. Michael Pilgrim's new girlfriend, or, after two days, "future wife", he'd decided, was being a bit mysterious as she led him towards the main marquee, but, as he assumed it involved naked pony girls in bondage, he'd been happy to go along with her.

It was almost ten, on a fine sunny, if slightly breezy, morning; neither of them had had breakfast, preferring a little extra time in bed... mainly to recover from their enthusiastic love-making before they'd gone to sleep. Michael was proud of the stamina he'd displayed, and in truth a little surprised that, over the last day or so, he'd been able to "rise to the occasion" so many times, both with his dear Lizbeth Laine, and her dear pony girl Whistlejacket... though "WJ" had been left in the stables last night to recover from her extreme exertions in the cross-country time trials on Saturday afternoon.

Lizbeth Laine held Michael's hand as they entered the marquee, which as usual was a hive of purposeful activity, if not quite so humming as before the time trials. She wore a fresh white blouse, and a clean pair of cream jodhpurs, plus her well-polished calf-high boots. "This afternoon we have the show jumping event, for the final points, but this morning - well, it doesn't add many points, but we're using the oval athletics-style track for a bit of all-out chariot racing!"

"So soon after the cross-country?"

"Well, we breed our ponies to be hardy", Lizbeth told him. "And it's only one circuit per heat."

"A bit like Ben Hur, then?"

"A bit - only without the drivers throwing hand-grenades at their rivals", she replied. "Or was that a different movie? It had slaves rowing a galley, who staged a mutiny when the captain announced he wanted to go water-skiing, right?"

"Something like that", Michael managed to say before he had a brief fit of snickering.

Miss Ashton had a clipboard and a biro, and had almost walked past the pair before she noticed them. "Good morning, Miss Laine, Mr Pilgrim. Lizbeth, you'd better get changed, your heat is in twenty minutes!"

"So soon? Darn, being with Michael here, I lose track of time. Michael, go out to the track, and try not to ogle all the naked ladies - I'll be back as soon as I can!"

Lizbeth hurried off, just as Gerald Swanley strolled up. "Good morning Michael - and how are things going, Joan?"

Miss Ashton smiled, and checked her timer, attached to the clipboard. "First heat in just under five minutes, Gerald."

"Fine - Come with me Michael, and prepare to ogle!"

* * * * * *

As the oval track had been built, along with the grandstand, by a firm that specialised in athletic tracks, it had been carefully measured, and painted with six lanes, with the staggered starts for each lane to ensure that each runner, or roller, had the same distance to go before reaching the finishing line. The grandstand's seating area was only about half full at the moment, though there was a reasonable crowd down by the fence. While waiting for the racing to start, they had at least been able to watch the show jumping course on the oval inside the track starting to take shape, though preparations were in their early stages as yet.

The pony girls for the first heat of the racing were already on the track, and fully harnessed up, with a stable girl or steward holding the reins. The girls were in their usual harnesses, designed to frame and enhance rather than cover, but instead of the cross-country chariots, the ones they'd been attached to now were much lighter in weight, little more than a flimsy-looking wooden platform on bicycle-style wheels, with a single upright metal piece for the rider to hold on to.

And now the charioteers appeared, each with their lane-number on their back, and there was applause and even some cheering from the stand, because this time they were not in jumpers and jeans, or jackets and jodhpurs... generally, they were as uncovered as the ponies, though in different ways. One was in skin-tight shiny black latex from neck to toes, except for cut-outs for her breasts and pussy; one was actually in a pony girl type harness, including plug-tail, but with her arms free of course; a couple more had tight bikinis with cut-outs, one had a transparent leotard... and the least interesting of the six, perhaps, wore nothing, other than the number taped to her back, but her sneakers. They all grinned, and waved their whips at the crowd, as they hurried to their starting positions, climbed onto their platforms, and took the reins, ready for the off.

"The bends here are tighter than on the cross-country", Gerald commented, while Michael concentrated on his ogling duties, "And the chariots are lighter - it's a real challenge to stay in lane and go fast, but these girls have all been practising, so we should see some good times." Gerald glanced round, glad to see lots of happy customers. "The winner of each heat goes through to the final, Whistlejacket and Lizbeth are in the third of the five heats."

The starting pistol went off with a harsh bang, and all six ponies were instantly straining to get their chariots moving; one of them stumbled, but quickly recovered, though the pony in the lane inside her was immediately past her. It looked to Michael as if the chariots were dangerously close to one another, with only a foot between them when they were neck-and-neck.

It was hard to judge, but it seemed as if lane three's pair was slightly in front on the bend leading into the home straight - but then lane two put in a spurt, and was dead level as they thundered towards the finishing line. In the end, there was barely a nipple in it, but lane three held off the challenge. The wheels clashed as they slowed down, the race over, with one pony following the lane marking and the other going straighter, but the riders both hung on, and nobody was thrown or hurt.

"Heat one's winner is Sparkle, so congratulations to her, and we'll see her in the final in under an hour", the Tannoy announced, as the other riders took turns to shake the winning charioteer's hand. And then the six chariots were pulled off the track and back into the tent - and the next six were rolled out.

"Red Rum is in this heat", Gerald commented, looking at his print-out. "Lane three... enough runners ahead to aim for, but not too sharp on the bends. Whistlejacket's got that lane too, in her heat."

"More spectators are arriving all the time", Michael commented. "You sold tickets for this weekend?"

"Oh yes - some for all three days, some for a single day, generally today. Things have gone well, financially."

"All that traffic - aren't the police curious...?"

"Ask the assistant chief constable - that's her on the track, talking to the steward holding the reins of lane five's pony girl." Gerald winked. "As long as we don't start hunting foxes, we won't get any problems."

This group of riders included three naked ones, two in one-piece swimsuits with three bits missing, and one, Red Rum's charioteer, topless and wearing almost entirely transparent boxer shorts. They climbed onto their platforms, the starting pistol fired - but it was a false start this time, lane two's pony had moved too soon, so it took a couple of minutes to get everyone back and lined up again.

The second time, they got away cleanly, and it soon became obvious that Red Rum would win. Only lane two tried to catch up, the other ponies slackened off, despite some urging with their whips from a couple of the riders. Red Rum had an easy victory, already slowing down as she crossed the line.

Michael had been trying to imagine what costume Lizbeth Laine would appear in. He watched as Whistlejacket, looking calm, strong and confident, was led into her place at lane three's start line, and the other ponies pulled their lightweight chariots into place. Then the riders appeared, with the usual blend of full nudity and cut-outs - and Lizbeth wearing a slightly yellow-tinted, fully transparent body-hugging latex one-piece, from neck to toes.

"Oh my god, all her outfit needs is a roll-down turtleneck and it'd be a giant condom", Michael said, impressed, rather louder than he had intended to, as she climbed onto her chariot's platform, and waved in his direction. "It's certainly different."

The race started, with Whistlejacket pumping her legs hard, and Lizbeth leaning forward and outwards as they raced around the first bend, heading for the back straight. She was certainly gaining on the ponies outside her, though the pony in lane two wasn't beaten yet, and was keeping up.

Whistlejacket almost stumbled as they hit the straight, losing precious momentum, but Lizbeth had reacted instantly, throwing herself back, holding tightly to her pole, which kept the shafts up, and kept WJ up too - and within two seconds they were back to full speed, though with lane two's pony level with them, with the advantage of the final bend still to come.

"What a team", Gerald said admiringly, his binoculars trained on the pair. The bend was reached, and the other pony managed to edge ahead... the other four lanes were also-rans now and knew it, slowing down and watching, as Whistlejacket fought desperately for extra speed. Lizbeth had to keep leaning out, to keep them in balance, but was yelling encouragement at the top of her voice.

Into the final straight, Whistlejacket was almost a yard behind, but there was still almost100 metres to go, and she dug deep, willing her legs to pump harder - with the result that, at ten metres from the finish, she was right up alongside the other pony... and at the line was inches ahead.

"There's a sixth place in the final for the fastest runner-up," Gerald commented, "And it looks as if that girl has earned it."

It took most of the bend for the chariots to come to a stop, but Gerald and Michael hurried along, and Michael was there in time to give Lizbeth a hand as she stepped down off the platform, handing the reins to an assistant judge. "You two never fail to... well, you never fail, do you?" He then gave her a hug - and then they both moved on to give Whistlejacket, who was bent far forward, panting hard, a hug too.

"Whistlejacket's just great, I was just hanging on for the ride", Lizbeth said. "But let's get her into the tent, the final will be along soon, she needs to be rubbed down, she needs a drink, and she needs to keep moving."

They didn't see the last two heats; they kept their pony girl moving, walking slowly, while, her head-harness and its ball gag temporarily removed, she gulped down some energy drink. A helper brought some lotion, and Michael and Lizbeth managed to smear it all over her, and rub it in - it smelt of coconut.

"How about you, aren't you too hot in your condom outfit?"

"My what--" Lizbeth stopped. "I just thought it was different from the others, I never... oh my god, stay with WJ, I must get changed!"

Michael stayed with Whistlejacket, gently keeping her walking slowly, towing her lightweight racing chariot. "Heheh, condom outfit, it was, wasn't it?" She smiled, raising her legs experimentally as he stopped, surprised to hear her speak. "Don't worry, she did bring some others less reminiscent of a certain scene in 'Naked Gun'... but can you put my head-harness back on now please?"

"You don't want anything else to drink?"

She shook her head. "It'd just be extra weight, thanks." She stopped walking, as he started to attempt to get the harness back into place. "Start with the ball-gag."

A stable girl saw what was going on, and helped with the buckles, so that Whistlejacket was ready for action by the time Lizbeth returned, this time wearing a fluffed-up, gauzy white 'baby doll' nightie that was cut so low in front it exposed her breasts, and ended a couple of inches below her navel, leaving a pleasurable expanse of nudity all the way to her sneakers.

"Well, is this more to Sir's liking...?" She struck a dramatic pose, arms outstretched.

"Is it?" Michael swallowed. "Promise me you'll wear that on our honeymoon, darling!" He shook his head briskly, to try to regain his senses. "I did ask you to marry me last night, didn't I?"

"You did ask me, and I accepted. Now stop trying to catch flies with that wide-open mouth, and lead our dear pony out, will you? I must join the other girls."

Gerald walked across to them as Michael led Whistlejacket out onto the track again. "Lane four for this one", Gerald told him. "If I was a betting man... well, Red Rum in lane three is the favourite, but I am a betting man, and I've put fifty pounds on Whistlejacket's nose, as they say!"

The pony girls were all lined up now, and their riders came out of the tent to cheers and whistles, waving. They all hurried to their chariots, took hold of the reins... there was a slight delay while one of the pony girls had to have her feet, in the chunky heel-less boots, moved back a few inches, but then there was quiet, the final electronic beeps, and the crash of the starting pistol.

For an instant it seemed that nobody would move, and the pony girl in lane six seemed more startled than anything else... but then everyone surged forward, the pony girls straining to get their wheels rolling. One rider was using her whip enthusiastically, but that didn't seem to help; at this stage, on the bend, the ponies needed to concentrate on their work.

Red Rum was, perhaps, the fastest of all to react, and must have come perilously close to a "false start" - she'd gained on the ponies in lanes one and two, despite the curve, and seemed to have gained on Whistlejacket too. Sparkle, from the first heat, was in lane five, and was starting to reel lane six's pony girl back as they all finished the opening curve, and moved onto the back straight.

Lizbeth felt a sting on the back of her neck, and jerked, enough for one wheel to briefly lose contact with the ground - it was Red Rum's driver's whip. "Careful WJ, but hug the line for all you're worth!" she bellowed. "Rummy's playing for keeps!"

Whistlejacket heard, and, legs pumping desperately, carefully edged the chariot across its lane, until its wheels were within inches of the painted white line. The straight was reaching its end, with the long half-circle curve ahead, leading into the final straight. Red Rum would have the advantage of a shorter path, but WJ's curve wasn't quite as sharp...

There was no further whip trouble while they were on the curve, as both riders were leaning hard to the left. Whistlejacket moved her chariot's wheels a little way away from the border line, and it was just as well she did as Red Rum was moving outwards too. There was the rumble of the wheels, the panting of the pony girls and the thunder of their boots hitting the track, the yells of the riders and the shouts from the crowd, the boom of the Tannoy, "And Red Rum is edging ahead, it's dashed close but Whistlejacket is losing to the curve, Sparkle is in third but way back..."

They burst into the final straight with Red Rum leading by no more than a foot - and her whip strayed across towards Lizbeth's face, but she deflected it with her own whip, and flicked her whip over above WJ's head with a sharp "crack!"

Whistlejacket pumped her legs desperately, trying for extra-long strides at an even faster pace. This was about strength, and training, and will - and heart, and courage. Her lungs burnt for more air, her mouth and throat was parched as the desert... but gradually that foot difference became nine inches, then six, then three, though Red Rum was desperately trying her hardest too, urged along by the whip landing on her back rhythmically, repeatedly.

The line was mere seconds away when Whistlejacket pulled level... and the photograph showed her ahead by an inch or less when the line was reached, but she was ahead, she had won the race, she could... could she slow down now? Everything, including the cheers and whistles, seemed to rush off, to be far away, as she managed to stop, and went down on her knees, desperately panting, perspiring, red-faced, her stomach cramped...but a winner!

"Whistlejacket and Lizbeth Laine have won it, it's official", the Tannoy was saying. "Won it by a nipple, with Red Rum second and Sparkle third." People were gathering round now, and unharnessing her from the shafts; strong arms lifted her up, hugging her tightly, and she heard Michael Pilgrim's voice telling her how brave she was, and how everything was going to be all right, and always would be. The head-harness was unbuckled, the open-weave ball-gag removed; she tried to spit a sour taste out of her mouth, but hadn't enough saliva.

Lizbeth had found a bottle of water, and gently let Whistlejacket have some; she gulped, then managed to spit some out, and then drank greedily, as Gerald put a blanket around her shoulders.

"Well, I thought someone said that was a minor event, but not the way you two do it", Michael commented, still supporting Whistlejacket, whose legs seems curiously unwilling to function in their normal way. "How long until the show jumping begins?"