© Copyright 2015 - Jackie Rabbit - Used by permission
Storycodes: F/f; FM+/f; naked; harness; bit; blinkers; truck; transported; sulky; ranch; ponygirl; objectifed; shave; massage; con; X
Part 12: Little Fugitive
Beth was once again put up in her stall, and the hired help dismissed for the day with pay long before J.M. used the editor's telephone to call her driver back at her ranch for a pickup. Ordinarily new ponygirls were acquired as walk ins, and the truck and trailer not needed to transport them initially to the ranch. The I.P.R.L. however was rather specific in it's rules on transportation of racing stock, and this could be a gray area that could run her afoul of the committee if it were questioned. Beth was technically already "in harness", and to transport her in a passenger car like an ordinary human just wouldn't do for several reasons, the least of which was that it would set a dangerous precedent and could negate her previous training. There was also the consideration that Beth technically was an escaped convict, and if transported in the back of a livestock trailer there would likely be little scrutiny of the truck's cargo on it's return trip.
J.M. had to begrudgingly admit that her pretty nemesis had an advantage or two, the first of which was a large pool of girls already trained to the harness to choose from at no cost to her, and the second was the ability to try them out under full stress before committing to them. J.M. had to rely on experience and observation to find the best ponygirls, but a healthy and trainable girl was still easier to find than a winning jockey. It wasn't all about brutality with the whip either J.M. thought, (although one couldn't argue with that one particular woman's success), it was more a case of finesse, just like with men.
Men were useful enough for what nature intended of them, (J.M. thought to herself with an inward smile), coming and going, or more accurately, cumming and leaving afterwards. That profound thought had occurred to J.M. at the local hardware store as she purchased materials to maintain her field's fence line one day several years ago, they got what they wanted, and then left. It was in their nature, one couldn't blame them for it, designed first and foremost to propagate the species, just like a stud stallion with a good pedigree. They were second best when it came to giving pleasure selflessly, but still fun to play with from time to time in celebration of a good contract, especially if properly motivated and controlled. Their durability under the best of circumstances was obviously limited, and here again, just like on the track, it took finesse to wring all one could from her mount.
Beth was forced to listen to the two impassioned lovers from her small jail like stall. The weather was hot and the windows open, and had the hired help not been sent home they would have had much to report to the lady of the house when she eventually returned. It went on all afternoon as if they were teenagers, beds bumping around, and both male and female gasps of passion as Beth was left to wonder if her self serving editor was really that good of a lover. One wouldn't think so, (she thought to herself), and if he were such a physical man why then didn't he just take her when he had the chance?
Beth also realized that J.M. now owned a part of the man as well, her last form of leverage likely lost to the worldly author who now apparently owned her for the next three years, if she were lucky. She also realized it likely she could find herself in three last place finishes when fairly competing one on one against larger and more muscular ponygirls, and that potentially meant a new ranch and an even more uncertain future. It was a cruel irony she thought, she had been the other woman often enough, engaging in activities that other women simply wouldn't just for the fun of it, as well as her own self interests. The truth was that she had enjoyed those things at the time, her mind apparently wired differently than most other women's, and she realized that this new adventure could be just as provocative as J.M. had suggested to her editor that it would be for her.
Late that next night the truck could be heard idling in the driveway under the cover of darkness, Beth bound in her own cuffs and full tack an hour earlier by J.M. herself, blinkers over her eyes and bit in while she waited silently in her stall. Neither her editor, nor her new owner came down from the house to see the transfer though, the men from J.M.'s ranch seeing to things themselves as they likely had many times in the past. A pair of rough hands held her bare shoulders while another clipped a lead to her harness, Beth terrified and excited all at the same time. The men commented between themselves about her slight stature, concluding that this was a curious acquisition as best, and theorizing between themselves that J.M. had lost her mind.
The men were silent as they walked their blindfolded charge out to their waiting truck, Beth's boots clip clopping on the hard surface and the light rain falling on her bare skin giving her a chill. Once inside the trailer and the large door closed the lights came on, and Beth was released from her bonds for their long trip while being warned not to say a word. There was food and water waiting for her, and a bed of soft straw for her to sleep on, but she struggled to fall asleep at first on the long bumpy trip...
Over a full day into their trip the trailer stopped still again, the men had done so several times to check on her while switching drivers, and to share with her some of the fresh food that they had purchased for themselves while getting fuel for the truck. Beth had almost expected some other purpose for such breaks, but the men hadn't asked for such things when they let her stretch her legs, and she didn't offer either. This last stop was different however, the men removing the sulky from the roof of the trailer and putting her back into full tack, their efforts conducted behind the trailer to keep from being seen from the road. There were no cars on the dirt road at the moment, but that could always change.
Where J.M. was efficient at such things, the men were just rough, tossing her unresisting body about as if she were a toy purely for their amusement. She found herself cuffed, bitted, and hitched to the light cart in record time, her reins leading to the drivers seat as one of the men climbed into it.
"Since your already in harness Fugitive, I've decided to run you the rest of the way to your new home. Say not a word and follow my commands and the whip won't touch your bare skin on this run, test me and you will wish you hadn't!" the man threatened unnecessarily.
Beth knew the term "fugitive" was technically accurate, but she understood by her driver's use of that particular word that it would also likely be her new racing name. She remembered J.M.'s casual use of it on the day she was purchased from her editor with the senior author's ominous three three three contract, the full level of her commitment taking some time to realize. Her book could be a masterpiece, as well as an expose to shake the nation, but would she survive long enough to write it?
A gentle cluck of the man's cheek and slight shake of her reins brought J.M.'s newest racing ponygirl out of her brief daydream, the man's gentleness a sharp contrast to his rough handling of her only moments before. They were pointed toward the wood line and directly away from the road, and it suited Fugitive to be away from possible discovery as soon as possible even though she was well beyond any embarrassment. To her way of thinking this was natural for her now, or at least for the next three years if she couldn't win her way out of her contract.
Fugitive dug in with her shod boots expecting the light sulky behind her to pull like the editor's heavy wagon with two passengers aboard, and she was just as surprised as her driver when the cart behind her bolted forward nearly toppling it's occupant. She felt him bump forward and back as the seat back blasted into his relaxed spine, his friend watching and nearly laughing himself to death as she listened over her shoulder. She dared not turn her head, but she didn't have to, the smile forming behind her bit of it's own accord with the unintentional prank she had just pulled off. It would be a one time trick with this particular man, and there may even be consequences if he thought it was intentional.
Fugitive's reins were once again slack however, (after their brief snap with the man being thrown about), and the man commanded a simple "easy girl" as she settled into the ease of her task on her way toward the wood line at a brisk walk, the dirt trail was used and smooth, and the burden behind her light. She then heard the truck and trailer drive away behind her, she realizing she was this man's best way to get to the ranch she had never seen, nor knew it's distance.
In her mind she was now Fugitive the ponygirl, the transformation easily accomplished with a simple ride once again away from everything familiar, and not one stroke of the whip by her new driver. It was almost too easy, as if this is what she was destined to do all along. Could the policemen have known this so long ago, or for that matter the men she had entertained for personal gain back in college? J.M. had been right earlier as well she realized, there was a sexual thrill to being out in the open in harness and almost nude, and of course firmly commanded, one couldn't forget that little detail.
Another cluck of the man's cheek and a shake of the reins and she broke into a trot, she sensing his desire to get away from the road now that the trailer was gone and they were in clear view of it should somebody drive by. At their distance she might just look like a more traditional mount should somebody glance that way while racing by, especially with the dirt kicked up by their passage on the unpaved surface, but her task in all this was to follow her driver's lead, not question it. This new command also gave her a chance to show off for the man behind her whom impressing was suddenly very important to her.
The tree line was dark as compared to the field they had just traversed, but safer despite the fast pace the pair maintained, the ponygirl nearly blindly following her drivers commands until her eyes adjusted to the shade. A quick turn of the trail, and then another, and anybody looking from the road to the distant ponygirl trail wouldn't be able to see a thing. The pair trotted on with a cloud of dust in their wake should either of them care to notice, (not at all possible for the bitted and harnessed ponygirl without significant consequences), the pace fast for the conditions, Fugitive's driver almost daring her to slow without first receiving the proper command. The two roared down the tight trail, J.M.'s newest ponygirl showing no signs of fatigue, she hell bent to show off for the man behind her with the as of yet unused buggy whip.
"I have a little wager with Jake the other driver that he won't make it home before we do as his route is longer than our short cut. Impress me Little Fugitive and I'll make it worth your while," the man could be heard saying to his mount over the noise of their passage. The light little sulky was faster than the cart the new ponygirl had pulled in her Beth persona, and here she thought was a chance to really show off, and burn off some aggressions at the same time.
The reins shook again with the verbal command to "GET ALONG NOW", the man's words sharper than his gentle handling of the leather straps that ostensibly controlled her. Beth who was now apparently to be known as Little Fugitive broke into a sprint, she determined to win this little prize for her driver at all costs. It reminded her of another time when she had nearly run down the snake like wife of her former driver as the team followed her in their impromptu race back at Grandview, and the thought made her smile behind her bit. Little fugitive formed a mental picture of her pretty and sadistic snakelike nemesis standing in her lacy dress at the finish line just waiting for her, her only goal to trample her first before the others behind her could...
Little Fugitive found herself on a pace that she couldn't keep for very long no matter her motivation, and she only hoped her driver realized this. Still showing off like this vented some tension for the frustrated ponygirl, she having to endure listening to her editor and her new owner fornicate all afternoon long just the other day in celebration of her favorable purchase agreement, reminding her once again of her new and voluntary status in the human dominated world of ponygirl racing. She was for all intents a human slave, performing an inhuman task for another's purposes, and hopefully her own if all went well.
Up ahead on the tight and dark trail they were on there was a bright clearing, bringing her out of her daydream that momentarily occupied the thinking part of her brain. This little mental vacation made her forget how hard her little body was working for her driver, and Little Fugitive wondered if this was what it was like to be properly broken as a ponygirl. If it was, she thought, there were worse things, her time in harness no doubt passing quickly under such circumstances.
The pair blasted into the bright sun, turning right with a gentle command, and running toward the white perimeter fence and it's open gate. Once through it they entered a circular track with other ponygirls getting exercised in front of their own sulkies running to the right, the harnessed girls looking dead ahead with their blinkers on and not apparently noticing. The other drivers working their own mounts did however, both man and woman training their ponygirls to run the track in competition.
Little Fugitive took up the outside lane to run down and cool, and when the other drivers had all lapped her they looked on with obvious humor at her stature, their ponygirl mounts possibly even doing the same, although it would be hard to tell bitted and bridled as they were.
Eventually there was a dust cloud along the entry road, the truck and trailer obviously coming in second place in her first unofficial solo race as it stirred the earth in it's wake. Little Fugitive thought it a good start, but the other ponygirls were so much more muscular than she, and buxom, something the slight woman had always been jealous of in secret. Upon reflection, she thought, buxom and bouncing breasts might stir a man's interests, but would likely do little to speed her along unless they were firmly restrained.
"Well done" the man behind Little Fugitive called out just loud enough for her ears alone. "Twelve minutes and fifteen seconds by my watch, not at all a record, but a good first effort."
Little Fugitive was bathed in sweat from her efforts, and she couldn't imagine going much faster on such a run, but she also knew by J.M.'s words that she would be trained up just like any other ponygirl, and likely bulked up as well. She knew she was fast when unhitched from a cart, but that was due to her slight stature, however in pulling anything of weight that was not an advantage.
Little Fugitive was then walked over to where the truck had been parked, Jake it's driver grumbling when he handed over the coin out of his pocket that apparently satisfied the two men's wager. Jake telling Sam (Little Fugitive learning her driver's name rather indirectly as no ordinary human introductions were possible) that he knew he was in trouble when he saw the way Sam's little mount bolted away on him.
The two friends unhitched Little Fugitive from the sulky and walked her into the expansive barn by her reins, she still exhausted from her run and glistening with perspiration as both men looked at her with renewed respect. She was after all a fine looking mount, her skin nearly as brown as her unique harness, and oh so different from the other ponygirls. The harness was another matter entirely, the words of caution about it's unauthorized removal indicating to the two friends that this was no ordinary acquisition. They knew as much with their unusual pick up, and at first they had thought that J.M. had lost her mind, but now they weren't so sure.
"She's mine until J.M. gets back and makes a proper training assignment," Sam told his friend who had made eye contact with him as if to ask the unasked question, "but I may lend her to you for a run if you don't complain about it."
"Oh, OK then," Jake responded. "I can live with that."
Little Fugitive was handed off to a pair of large women in the barn, one of the two taking her reins rather roughly from the men, the men turning to leave without another thought after Sam told the lead woman that she is to get the whole treatment as a reward for a good first run. Just another day at work for all involved the little ponygirl realized, where had she thought that before she wondered?
The two women seemed irritated that their conversation had been interrupted by this unexpected job, the other ponygirls still out on the track and would be for some time yet. The ladies were quick to notice the little ponygirls deep tan and fixed harness indicating that she had been in it for some time, and then the words "Property of Grandview", telling them that this was no ordinary ponygirl.
The ladies also noticed that there was no brand on her butt meaning she was "just in contract", despite the other apparent indicators that she was not new to this lifestyle. Then they noticed her frightened look and thought to soothe her, after they both looked around to see if anybody of importance was in the barn with them first.
"Don't worry," the lead woman said at a whisper, "we do this all the time. In case nobody told you yet, this is the part that all the ponygirls like. The trainers run you girls as hard as they dare so you can continue to win and keep all of us employed, or at the very least from finishing dead last and becoming a plaything for the ponyboy's barbaric after race celebration."
With those words the ladies went to work stripping off and washing what they could from the littlest ponygirl at their ranch, and when she was left wearing only her harness they continued their own conversation as they bathed her most intrusively in their wash down stall with soft brushes on long handles. She was tethered only by a simple leather strap about her neck wrapped about an overhead beam more out of habit that any expectation of escape, but the ladies also knew this ponygirl was obviously new to this kind of treatment and unpredictable. Still they seemed happy that she had the ability to follow simple physical commands like lifting the leg that was tapped with the brush, or raising an arm to scrub more thoroughly under it, but the implication was that Little Fugitive should expect little direct conversation from them. It was obvious to everybody present that there were two humans and one ponygirl in the barn, any other thought could challenge the sanity of all involved.
Properly bathed, hair washed clean, and smelling much less like a stock animal was appealing to Little Fugitive, even though she would rather have given herself her own shower. The wash down stall was much like her own facilities back at her editor's summer residence, and the water just as warm, but there she washed herself. The ladies weren't done however, and next they shaved and trimmed what needed as she held especially still, she wisely cooperating less she get injured in the process. It was a very personal thing to let another do to oneself, but again the ladies were just doing their job grooming up the new ponygirl.Once silky smooth and smelling rather nice one of the ladies lead Little Fugitive over to a padded bench by her tether, she pointing down at it in a silent command as the other cleaned up and dried the little ponygirl's tack and hung it for later use. Once down on the bench Little Fugitive received the best body massage one could imagine, the woman paying special attention to her sore legs and back less she cramp up. The little ponygirl fell asleep during her rub down, but was woken gently and walked to her new stall afterwards, she thinking to herself that this place was not all that much like Grandview at all.
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story continues in The Investigative Reporter 13: The Rest Of The Story At The Ranch