The Stallion (12 page)

‘Whatever . . . whatever you want to do to me, do.’ The whimper in his voice seemed more of an entreaty than a reproach.

That to her was confirmation enough that what she had in mind would delight him. At the same time it would get her what she wanted.

With the helpful rubbing of the handle against an odd piece of saddle soap, she slid it between the tight orbs of his behind. Slowly, she entered him. She heard him moan, wondering for a moment if she was doing right or if it would hurt him.

She glanced around to the front of his body at his jerking penis and smiled. It positively glowed in the semi-darkness, a pearl drop of moisture crowning its gleaming head. Auberon, she guessed, was in ecstasy.

With one hand holding on to the half-submerged handle that now stuck out from his anus, she brought the rest of the whip around the front with her, running its declining thickness through her fingers until she was facing him.

Her gaze dropped to his penis before returning to his face. Beneath half-closed eyes he watched her, his mouth open, jewels of sweat hanging from his nose and chin. She dropped down, poked out her tongue and transferred the pearl drop from tip of penis to tip of tongue.

She did not stop there, but continued her journey with the thin end of the whip until she was back where she started and could tie it round the portion of the handle that stuck obscenely out from between his cheeks. It would not fall out.

With the riding crop in one hand, she dragged a bale of straw in front of the restrained Auberon. At first she knelt on it, her eyes filled with the sight of his pulsating cock, trembling as her nails followed their previous course, leaving slight indents in the purple flesh as they went. At each dig he moaned in ecstasy and begged for more, though his moans verged on squeals of sweet pain.

She wrapped her arms around him, drawing his pelvis to her as her mouth enveloped him, the soft down of his sac caressing her chin.

As she enjoyed the sensation of her mouth drawing in then
retrieving
along his entire length, her hand found the half-hidden handle and began to move that back and forth.

Above her he groaned and his knees sagged slightly. She felt his thighs tremble and his penis leap in her throat.

Not yet, she said to herself; not until I’ve had my reward.

She loosed him from her mouth and, with her foot, moved the bale of hay to one side, then rested that foot on it. Everything was in place for her to take what she wanted.

Breast meeting breast, she brought one hand round to the front, closed it around the imprisoned penis and readied it to guide it between her well-oiled lips and into her waiting vagina.

It slid in. She moved forward, then buried it to the hilt.

Delicious waves of pleasure spread upwards from where she gyrated on the rampant member. She mumbled her pleasure against his chest, apologising in a stupid sort of way for being unable to resist such a stout harbinger of satisfaction.

Unwilling to allow his cock to shrink from its splendid size, one hand went back to the whip handle and began to manipulate it as before, moving it gently in and out of his anus. Just to remind him who was in charge, she flicked every so often at his bare flesh with the riding crop, her strokes getting more erratic but much more virulent as her own climax began to spread from her loins.

With one leg up on the bale of hay, it was easy to manoeuvre her clitoris so it received the full impact of his thrust against her each time she pushed on the handle of the whip.

As though now going into full gallop, her movements got faster. Trickles of sweat ran between her jiggling breasts from him and her, then ran off to saturate further the slippery wetness that sucked and gulped between their thighs.

‘More! More! More!’ Now her tongue stuck to her mouth, her arms quivering with a current of impending explosion.

Higher and higher the current of climax ascended before tumbling down in a sparkling shower of sensitive bliss.

One, two, three, four more thrusts of the whip handle, then Auberon, too, gave all he had to give. Within her, the bunched-up and heavily engorged cock throbbed like an airlocked water-pipe as he cried his release to the high rafters and unsettled the roosting pigeons.

There was only a soft rustling in the darkness once they had finished and Auberon had licked the last vestige of her own secretions from her hot and well-used pussy.

Even so, she thought to herself, there is always someone who hopes for an additional encore or who hangs around the stage door hoping for a last word or an avid leer. She wondered only briefly who it would be, and dared not hope it would be the object of her wager. All the same, she hoped she had made a good impression.

‘Nice night.’

Sir Reginald had come from somewhere behind them as they left the stables.

‘Splen . . . splendid,’ stammered Auberon.

‘Nice night for being out walking,’ said Penny.

‘Yes,’ Sir Reggie chuckled knowingly, his dark eyes twinkling. ‘Yes. Nice night for a lot of things. Very satisfactory, don’t you think?’ He chuckled again before wandering off along the gravel path and into the darkness.

Ears, if not eyes, tuned to the night, Penny looked into the darkness and was aware of other footfalls joining his.

5

‘CLEAR ROUND!’

The hollow echo of the loudspeaker announced her performance to the crowd of pink faces that thronged around the main arena.

This was Penny’s first horse show since coming to Beaumont Place and, although it was only a county show of secondary merit, she’d done well and felt pleased with herself.

Hoofs thudded beneath her and clods of earth flew out behind, lifted by the animal’s iron shoes. She felt the creature’s muscles between her thighs, and thought as she had so many times before, just how incredible it was that she could exert her own will over such a powerful animal.

‘Well done!’ There was triumph in her voice and a smile on her face as she patted the sweating neck of the rangy chestnut before exiting the arena and coming to a halt.

Beaming brightly, perhaps too conceited for her own good, she nodded at Auberon as he made ready to try his round. His hand tipped politely at his hard hat. His smile was faint and he blinked a few times.

Just for a moment, she thought she saw him blush like a nubile girl and she smiled. Was he enamoured of her, or just highly appreciative of the performance she’d made him go through the night before?

She had asked him later if he had known they were being watched. He had blushed then, too, and had stammered his answer.

‘Um . . . Well . . . possibly . . . perhaps.’

He knew, she decided. He just didn’t want to admit it. Did such a thing embarrass him? Obviously. But
she
didn’t feel that way. There was added excitement in performing such a delicious task when an audience was present. Just the thought of last night made her flush beneath her tight white breeches and black wool jacket.

But Auberon, sweet as he was, loved being submissive and, in all honesty, she had found the role of the dominator extremely enjoyable.

‘Good round,’ said the stable-lad who held her horse’s head. He had dancing green eyes, copper-coloured hair and was called Stephen.

‘So far so good,’ she replied, her face still flushed from her ride and her breath still hurried. But she was still smiling, almost laughing. She felt good.

He helped her dismount before throwing the customary soft brown rug over her horse’s steaming flanks. Her on one side of the chestnut, and him on the other, they led the horse back to the horsebox which was painted light blue with ostentatious gold lettering along the side.

‘Well, here we are,’ she said appreciatively, happy to have done so well, and even more happy that this particular horsebox was like a palace compared to the rattly old Bedford she had arrived in. She still had it, of course. Gregory had parked it safely until she had need of it again. Safety, she guessed, didn’t even come into it. Her old horsebox just wouldn’t have matched up to the Beaumont standard, whereas this long and weighty machine had six wheels with double axles.

‘I could do with a shower,’ she said. She’d already loosened her white silk cravat – formal and required wear when actually jumping. Now she also undid her top button. She saw him look; had meant him to.

The ride had made her glow and her flesh hanker after other things. Riding did that. Her plush sex had slid and bumped against the unyielding saddle in easy, gentle rhythm one moment, fast and furious the next.

She glanced with interest at the young man. His smile was inviting and the sprinkling of freckles over the bridge of his nose gave him a boyish, almost impish expression. His skin was creamy-white. She imagined his body being very white, as cool as milk or blue-veined like frosted ice. Like a youthful Pan, she thought, russet hair, snow-white skin and eyes the colour of a summer meadow just before sunset. Although his body was slim and not fully matured, he was poised on that threshold when the energy of youth outweighs the technique of experience. She eyed him, wondered about him, and her loins tingled.

That’s not what I’m here for, she told herself. But all the same, the lad’s muscles rippled like a shoal of darting fish beneath the clinging tightness of his black T-shirt. What harm was there in extending a little more than friendship and straying slightly from the path to her main objective?

His fingers curved over hers very briefly as he handed her the reins of her second mount. She thanked him.

‘Need a leg-up?’

‘Please.’

He looped the chestnut’s reins over his arm before grasping her shin and foot and propelling her upwards to sit astride the grey, which was over sixteen hands of pure muscle. His hands lingered on her foot as he assisted her to slide it into the stirrup. Through the leather of her boot she could vaguely discern the sweaty heat of his palm. There was a questioning look in the merry glint of his eyes. She knew what the question was. She also knew the answer. Perhaps later, she told herself, and returned her concentration to the job in hand, refastening her button and retying her cravat.

‘Have a good ride,’ he said as she turned the grey’s head towards the arena. He grinned as he said it and there was joy in his voice.

‘I always do.’

She glanced at him; saw hope in his face and fever in his eyes. Perhaps it was the sheer bravado that she always felt when competing in equestrian events, or more likely the arousal caused by the friction of the saddle, but she returned his smile and let her tongue travel purposefully over her teeth. That, she judged, was enough to tell him that she too felt a high fever rising in her loins and would not be averse to a mutual quenching of it.

But, for the moment, she left him and made her way back to the showjumping arena.

Nadine glanced at her as she halted her horse in the collecting ring, the place where those about to jump or those who had already jumped waited their turn or caught their breath.

Penny nodded in greeting. Nadine’s eyes left her and went back to what was happening in the arena. Nadine was a professional when it was warranted. Stopwatch in hand, she noted every timing of every competitor, every movement of hand or heel as each Beaumont rider urged their animal over the obstacles.

Even her clothes today veered towards businesslike and were, so Penny thought, vaguely reminiscent of a middle-management executive. She wore a black trouser suit, crisp white blouse, black-and-white tie and black sombrero. The latter had a thick cord hanging from behind it which normally would have fastened under the chin. The familiar cheroot was gripped tightly in the corner of her mouth, and her earrings were exactly the same pair as she had worn the day before.

Dramatic people draw curious looks, and Nadine was most definitely dramatic, even when soberly suited. Curiosity was
rewarded
with a cold stare. From what Penny had learnt, a cold stare was stage one. Expletives ranging from purely sarcastic to downright obscene were stage two. Stage three was not for the faint-hearted, though apparently one brave journalist at some past horse show had pressed his luck, so Penny had been told. With icy-cold stare accompanied by an equally cold smile, Nadine had grabbed at his balls. The colour had drained from his face and he’d stood on his toes, not daring to return to earth until she had let go of his family jewels. He’d scurried off clutching his groin. Nadine, he had swiftly learnt, was best left alone.

There was a roar from the crowd, followed by another unemotional announcement from the loudspeaker, and people clapped. Auberon had jumped clear, too. All eyes watched as he came cantering out of the ring.

He tipped his hat as he passed her, his face flushed now more from his energetic clearing of the fences than his memories of their night of passion.

‘Good luck,’ he said among his breathlessness.

Full of confidence, Penny thanked him and dug her heels into her horse’s flanks. She could do no wrong today, she thought. It was almost as if she could fly.

Like a dream, the driving muscles of the grey propelled her over the first jump. With difficulty she controlled the urges that the stable-boy with the green eyes had aroused in her. More concentration was needed to ride this animal than the chestnut. Timing of take-off was imperative and had to be gauged by the rider more so than the horse.

The hoofs thudded beneath her. Just by their sound, she could judge their pace and analyse when timing was perfect.

She gathered the reins, and with the assistance of every muscle in her body, she pushed the mare on, lower legs working incessantly to take her up and over each obstacle.

All were cleared without difficulty except the last. It loomed
high
and wide before her, a triple-bar spread. Briefly she glanced at those watching, threw a smile in Auberon’s direction – then wished to God she hadn’t.

Fool! Bloody fool! She cursed that smile, cursed her own conceit.

In that one split second of relaxed concentration, she’d covered too much ground. The fence loomed up, yellow-striped and large. If she did clear it, she’d be lucky. There was also the chance of landing awkwardly. Inside, she prayed. Then she narrowed her eyes.