Jayne was dressed in one of her most feminine outfits. Tight
guepiere, flowing summer dress, wide-brimmed hat and elbow length gloves - the
young woman, her eyes sparkling and her face aglow with animated excitement,
was a walking dream of assured invitation. As the Bentley swished through
country lanes Jayne glanced sideways at her aunt, no less upright and elegant
beside her in the softly-upholstered luxury of the magnificent car. The Bentley
was one of Lady J's 'little indulgences', as she called them - and epitomised
the aristocrat's philosophy of life. It was now well over twenty years old, but
gleamed, purred and whispered along with the quietly assured authority of what
Lady J sometimes referred to as 'old money'. Lady J would no more of thought of
owning a new Bentley (or worse, a new Rolls Royce - 'the car of the nouveau
riche' as she described it to Jayne) than she would of owning, even being seen
in, one of those modern characterless if efficient Japanese saloons, all
electric windows and adjustable everything. No doubt they had all that the
modern driver could desire. No doubt they were wonderful value for money. No
doubt they had a multitude of qualities. But they had no class. And class, as
Lady J had taught Jayne, was everything - or nearly so. Not class in the narrow
snobbish sense, meaning accident of birth. Class in the absolute sense,
irrespective of birth: style, dignity, poise.
'Call it what you wish, my dear,' Lady J had once said to
Jayne. 'I call it class.'
The gentle summer drive out of London ended at an
imposing country house, part of a large estate, and with that sound universally
associated with wealth and opulence - the purring scrunch of wide, heavy tyres
on tightly rolled gravel - the big Bentley swept to a halt by the porticoed
As Pelham opened the door for Lady J. and then Jayne, the
latter looked around at her surroundings. No word of instruction passed between
Lady J and the quiet, loyal manservant. With a polite and silent nod he resumed
his seat behind the wheel, the heavy door whispered closed and the big car
glided noiselessly - save again for that so satisfying scrunch of rubber on
gravel - away.
With barely a word, Lady J. led her niece not to the
front door, but to one side of the house, to where large green and solid gates,
firmly shut, stood foreboding sentinel across an arched carriage entrance in a
high brick wall. Confidently, Lady J opened a small wicket gate in one of the
two main doors, and stepped through, bidding Jayne follow.
Within, Jayne found she had entered a large stable yard. In
one corner, fenced-off by wooden rails and with the red-brown sand and bark
surface of an all-weather ring replacing the yard's traditional cobbles, a tall
elegant man patiently schooled a black mare. With Lady J. Jayne watched until
he had finished.
'Jayne my dear,' said her aunt as the immaculately
dressed stranger came towards them, a groom leading away the beautiful horse,
'you must meet an old associate and acquaintance of mine. He is Don Estanio
Xajecbo Cortes y Aradess and he owns the estate we have come to see.' She
turned toward the Spaniard:
'Stanis: this is Jayne, of whom you have heard.'
The Spaniard took Jayne's hand, raised it as if to kiss
it but abruptly stopped with the young woman's half extended, her hand raised
merely to the level of her breasts. Holding her thus, half honoured guest, half
captive, he smiled directly into her eyes.
'Ah - so beautiful. I feel I know you already, yet not at
all. Your aunt has told me all about you - and nothing about you. But you have
come here at last. A promise fulfilled, and a gift not yet opened. Which shall
you be?' He paused, and smiled again.
'I am truly honoured,' he concluded with a smiling
half-bow. He let go Jayne's gloved hand without raising it to his lips.
As the trio walked toward the house, Jayne pondered the
enigmatic little speech. She was intrigued. What was her aunt up to? This would
not be the first time Jayne had been introduced to friends of her aunt in
apparently innocent circumstances, later to find herself, at her aunt's
instruction, required to perform some small act of obedience: an inspection, a
presentation - even a demonstration of fortitude. Occasionally, now that her
apprenticeship with Stephen was completed, something more than the
highly-charged erotic passivity she had learned so painstakingly was called
for. Sometimes nothing more than a bared breast. Sometimes her dress removed,
hands behind head, feet apart: the familiar pose, perhaps merely for display,
perhaps - now that her virginity was taken and her sexual schooling more
advanced - for more intimate inspection. And sometimes then bent forward, hands
on settee or armchair seat, bottom raised and feet wide planted to allow
examination of the full, fat lips and the delicate petals between.
A comment on the glistening silver oil which by this time
would inevitably be in evidence within the pink entrance, perhaps even on the
outside of the smoothly bald lips themselves. More discussion of the state of
those lips and of the careful grooming of the intimate area: the carefully
trimmed mound, the closely depilated labia and pudendum. And if the
interlocutor was to be particularly favoured, her aunt's gloved hand placed
lightly on the inside of a parted thigh - a signal which needed no words. Then
knees bent to slacken the taut stretch of the fat lips and open the tight
channel. Inner muscles relaxed to permit entry, velvet-skinned knob pushing
apart thick, slippery lips, long hard flesh sliding within. Nesting, as her
aunt called it: Jayne herself required to remain motionless, still. Even when
the rod itself began to move, to slide back and then in again, the coarse hair
rasping against the full, slick sensitivity of her cunt lips, lips she was
required to keep bald and hairless at all times. Even when the rod filled her
and thrust hard, then stayed for a moment, thrust hard home. Then the pumping,
deep within, and the hot jet, drilling deep inside her.
She glanced a sidelong glance at Don Estanio. Would she
soon find herself kneeling before the dark Spaniard, her gloved hands undoing,
unzipping, releasing. She found herself imaging what his erect manhood would look
like, felt herself beginning to tingle with that familiar excitement. She
imagined her gloved hands (long white satin gloves she wore today, elbow
length) she imagined her gloved fingers closing round the hard shaft, peeling
back the envelope of soft, thin skin to reveal the shining, straining bulb. Imagined
the satisfying intake of breath above her. Knew she would not be permitted to
look up, must instead pay homage to the life staff before her. Imagined closing
her full, ripe lips over the rich purple plumhead, working her tongue in
underneath, as Stephen had taught her. Eyes watering a little as she took in
the whole length, sliding the O of her lips, of her opened throat, down the
shaft until her nose was tickled by the wiry black hair at the base of the
hard, muscled stomach. Imaging the tell-tale, sudden puff of air that always
came as a warning. Wondered what the Spaniard's come would taste like. She
closed her eyes and swallowed. She would not, of course, spill so much as a
drop. Only her shining lips, as she raised her head from its task, might betray
the evidence of her lusty meal. But there would be no sign, no indiscreet
evidence, left to betray what had transpired. She had been well-trained.
As they walked, past the house now and toward a large
brick-walled, slate-tiled building, clearly part of the large stable complex
which adjoined the house so integrally, she but half-listened to her aunt. She
was saying something about the visit, telling her niece something. Jayne pulled
her concentration back to the moment at hand.
'...been brought here to see something beyond anything
you thought might even exist' her aunt was saying, her head now turned toward
the niece, an eyebrow raised in query. Jayne retreated into tactical ploy,
forbearing to speak, merely smiling and inclining her head, acknowledging her
aunt's remark without spoken reply. Lady J seemed satisfied.
Wondering precisely what she was to see, Jayne
accompanied the tall stranger and her aunt into the large, high roofed building
and found herself in what appeared to be an indoor riding school - but one
obviously used for exhibition work. At one end a bank of several tiers of
spectator seating stood, empty now but clearly designed to permit an audience
to watch anything that unfolded in the ring. Ushering Lady J. and her niece to
seat themselves at their pleasure, Don Estanio strode off up the arena, to
disappear through a side door at the far end, and a few minutes later
re-emerged, returned and took a seat beside the two ladies, so incongruously
elegantly dressed in the plain surroundings of the indoor arena.
'It will be Marietta and the redhead,' he said to Lady
J., who simply nodded her head in acquiescent recognition. Jayne was intrigued
and perplexed by the cryptic mystery to which she was a wholly wondering
spectator. Familiar enough with the interior of indoor schools from her own
riding lessons, Jayne noted that this one was subtly different. There were no
half-built jumps, and the other paraphernalia of the normal riding school was
missing as well. In addition the oval exercise ring round the perimeter of the
school was more formally marked, with small pegs and bright red-and-white
plastic ribbon, of the sort used to mark taped-off areas at road accidents and
the like, strung taut between them. The sand of the peritrack was beaten flat,
firm and carefully raked rather than the deep litter churned by horses' hooves
usually found in such places.
As Jayne surveyed her surroundings, two large doors at
the far end of the arena swung open, and onto the hard-packed red sand of the
oval track emerged two small, light-wheeled chariots of the most extraordinary
kind Jayne had ever seen. The chariots themselves were minimalist in the
extreme, a rudimentary skeletal frame mounted on a single axle, with two very
large diameter lightweight wheels, like very large versions of the wheels one
sees on a wheel chair, but without the extra hand-rim. On each chariot sat what
Jayne first assumed to be a child, boys probably, dressed in miniature jockey
outfits complete with black racing helmets.
But the most extraordinary thing about the chariots was
what they were drawn by: between the shafts of each, instead of a horse, stood
an above-average height young woman, bizarrely dressed. Each wore tight-fitting
front-laced knee-length boots, obviously lightweight and of the finest supple
white leather, and on her head a high-plumed head-dress of the sort one might
see on a Paris or Las Vegas showgirl. Between head and knee the women were
virtually naked. Each wore only a broad waist-corset, covering the area between
the lower ribs and the top of the hips and obviously, to judge by the
hour-glass figure thus induced, very tightly laced. Above and below the
corselet the breasts and the belly below the navel were thus left quite bare. Over
the corset, each wore an elaborate harness by which she was clearly securely
attached to the chariot she pulled.
The two chariots, each pulled by their respective young
woman, moved swiftly to a white line limed across the perimeter path, and
stopped side by side. Clearly there was going to be a race. Jayne saw that the
outside chariot was pulled by the woman who must be called Marietta - a fact
she established only because the other woman was so obviously "the
redhead". Although her long red tresses had been pulled back beneath the
head-dress, leaving little enough hair visible from the front and at the length
of the arena, at the base of her startlingly white, muscular belly a flaming
mass of bright flowing ginger hair, unusually long and completely filling the
apex of the thighs and indeed trailing up the central groove of the taut belly
almost as far as the navel, left no doubt. Surveying the tall redhead, Jayne
noted with something between amusement and irritation that the woman's pubic
tresses were even more heavily massed and impenetrable than had been her own
not inconsiderable ginger thatch, before her aunt introduced her regime of
regular trimming and partial depilation.
The chariots halted - then at a signal from Don Estanio
came a shout from each of the diminutive charioteers, accompanied
simultaneously by the loud double report of two long coach whips being cracked
in unison, and the two women hurled themselves forwards in their harnesses. The
chariots leapt forward, the whips cracking again and in an instant the two
women were racing at full speed towards the three seated at the far end of the
The redhead, with the inside advantage, was first to the
turn and, wheels ringing, the extraordinary chariots clattered past. Jayne saw
the rest of the redhead's long tresses, tightly plaited and ribboned in the
manner of a horse's tail, swinging wildly between the white shoulder blades as
she passed. She saw also that as they ran the women lifted their knees
unusually high, giving an exaggerated high-stepping gait. Their arms, Jayne saw
as they swept past, were secured rigidly to the shafts of the chariots they
pulled, and the forward-leaning stance required to use their weight and leg
muscles to move the chariot, combined with the way in which the leather side
straps fixing the head-dress held the women's heads unnaturally high and back,
arched their backs and threw their torsos into prominent relief. Festooned with
straps and harness, the virtually naked bodies nonetheless were already
gleaming with a sheen of perspiration as the pair pounded past, their bare
breasts bouncing as they ran. Jayne noted with curiosity that the breasts of
each must have been incredibly firm: while they bounced with each step taken,
they did not leap and sway as might have done the bosoms of women with slacker
busts forced to run so unnaturally.
'Pony-girls,' explained Lady J. as the girls headed up
the back straight and round the top curve. 'Don Estanio runs a stable of some
twenty. he is one of the most celebrated trainers. There is a network of
enthusiasts not just around the country but across Europe, whose hobby is to
keep in training at establishments such as this pony-girls as others keep race
horses, and to race them against each other. As you can imagine, it is a
pastime conducted with the utmost discretion.'
Swiftly, Lady J. explained more about the extraordinary
secret to which she has chosen to make her niece party.
'And the girls?' asked Jayne. 'They must be forced to do
this, surely - they don't volunteer?'
'On the contrary,' said Lady J. at once, 'every one is a
volunteer - although some are more voluntary than others.
'In other words,' she added, 'some of the girls are the
kept mistresses - indeed in some cases love-slaves is not too strong a word -
of wealthy patrons. Others, however, are here entirely of their own choosing. There
is big prize money staked on the races. A girl here at the behest of, sponsored
as it were, a patron runs in the races on his behalf: she is called an
Indenture, and the patron collects any and all prize money she wins. A girl who
has applied to and been accepted by the Estancia on her own account is called a
Licence. The money she wins is split between herself and the Estancia - with
the girl keeping the larger share, which she takes with her when she leaves. She
will normally sign-on for a season at a time.
'Like football players, the best and most successful
racers are often transferred between Estancias - sometimes for very large sums,
a proportion of which the girl again gets to keep.'
By this time the two pony-girls had swept past again,
still running at a furious pace, the noise of their grunting, panted breath
clearly audible over the whirr of the wheels and the rattling of the chariot
frames. The redhead was still just in front. Jayne noticed that across the
redhead's firm white buttocks, pounding with exquisitely toned working muscles
as she ran, there were two vivid purple weals high on the pumping right cheek. Obviously
the driver - whom Jayne had by now had a chance to see was not a child but a
fully-formed, mature but tiny man, a dwarf - did more than merely crack his
whip in the air when he literally gave the red-head the jump at the start of
the race. The face of the redhead, Jayne noticed also, was vaguely familiar.
'Many of the Licences were minor but not unknown athletes
- usually pent- or heptathletes who have decided they will never quite make the
big time of Olympic or professional athletics, and chose this career for a year
or more to recoup something in return for the sacrifices they have made in
achieving their incredible athletic prowess' remarked Lady J. as the red-head
swept by, followed by a runnel-sweated Marietta. As if reading Jayne's mind,
she added: 'you might recognise the redhead: last year and the year before she
was a regular in international straight competition. Here her privacy is
preserved. She is known only by her Fancy name - Heatwave.'
The brief race came swiftly to an end, Heatwave the
redhead holding her initial advantage to win by about a length, despite
Marietta's diminutive driver plying his whip vigorously back and across each of
his pony-girl's pounding buttock cheeks several times up the final back
straight. Startled by the sting of the light whip, Marietta had bounded forwards
- but Heatwave had heard the slap of the whip on her opponent's flanks, heard
Marietta's driver urge her on and, without the need for her own driver even to
reach for the tall, fine coach whip mounted on one side of the racing frame,
leapt forward herself. Clearly, her athlete's training was an advantage even
here, in this bizarre, esoteric and undoubtedly secretive world.
As they finished, each of the women was slowed and then
stopped by the driver, the pony girls each leaning back into the shafts to slow
the weight of the chariot while at the same almost bouncing on tip-toe with a
high, dancing gait, their knees bending almost double, almost touching with
each step the stiff-nippled breasts which, because of the extraordinary gait,
bounced even more elastically. Obviously, the women had been specially schooled
in this unnatural high-step, which in addition to the high knee action also
caused - or required - them to throw each rising leg outward, briefly flashing
the insides of their thighs and, were one close enough to see in detail, giving
a brief glimpse of the full length of the sex-slot between.
The two pony-girls stopped at the far end of the school,
and immediately the redhead's driver tugged on the reins at one side, swiftly
wheeling the chariot about. Bouncing again with that extraordinary
high-stepping gait, the plume of her high head-dress waving, the chariot and
its extraordinary motive power disappeared at a slow, measured trot through the
double doors which swung silently open, apparently unattended.
Don Estanio, meanwhile, had signalled to the driver of
Marietta, who halted his charge and waited while the Maestro strode toward him.
There was a brief word, then Don Estanio walked on toward the still open double
doors while the pony-girl, her knees and thighs again lifted high with each
step, was walked slowly down the school toward Jayne and her aunt.
Lady J. rose and, bidding Jayne follow, stepped down onto
the track. Seeing them coming, the diminutive driver reined in his charge and
the rig again stopped, the pony-girl standing rigidly to attention, her head
high held, only the slowly subsiding heaving of her chest and sweat-soaked
flanks evidence of her recent exertion. The two women stepped up in front of
the waiting girl.
Jayne saw immediately that the young woman was not, as
she had at first thought, bare-breasted. Above the tightly-laced soft leather
corselet was what was essentially an open-tipped brassiere of some sort of
naturally coloured translucent material which both supported and held the
breasts while leaving the nipples bare and exposed. Assuming the other girl to
be similarly attired Jayne understood now why the breasts of both had remained
so firm as they ran.
Lady J. explained, 'The girls wear these special
brassieres while they are working in training - to run so much with unsupported
breasts would be unnecessarily uncomfortable, as well as not being particularly
good for the shape of the bosom in the longer term. They wear them in seeding
races also, although they are usually run completely bare-breasted during gala
races, when they are being shown off to best effect and where the unrestrained
movement of their bared breasts is part of their attraction.
'It depends on the size and firmness of the bust' she
added. 'Some of the larger-breasted girls are always raced either in brassieres
similar to this, or with the breasts in a special racing harness - unless the
sponsor especially enjoys watching his girl run with bare breasts whatever the
effect. Large breasts, especially if less than completely firm which is of
course usually the case, bare and with no support - unfettered, as it were -
can be quite a handicap when trying to run fast, as you can imagine: but then
not all sponsors race their girls simply for speed. They do not mind if she
does not win, provided she puts on a good show for themselves and their guests.
'And occasionally, a large-breasted girl will be worked
even in training without a brassiere or other support as a punishment. As you
can imagine, to be made to run at half or full speed, or at the high-stepping
trot, for any length of time with her bosom leaping wildly and unrestrained can
be both very embarrassing and acutely uncomfortable for a heavy-breasted