The Investigative Reporter 14: Little Fugitive's Racing Career

Part 14: Little Fugitive's Racing Career (part one)

(Sorry for the delay on this story, I have had a few projects running at the same time and thought that there wasn't all that much interest in my finishing this particular one... I have since been corrected, Jackie.)

Little Fugitive looked tan and more muscular in her stall as I inspected her the following day, endless paperwork and a tiny bit of apathy keeping me away until then. She didn't recognize me though, again her eyes told the tale with her vacant stare and accompanying mindless expression, but this time for me face to face. Sam was with me and evidentially proud of his work, I praising his resourcefulness and clever use of her harness time in front of Little Fugitive's stall just in case some small part of her humanity were still in there (as unlikely as that was), she then knowing I was ultimately responsible for her new lot in life and not he.

Sam responded with pride as one would expect with the work accomplished with this little ponygirl of mine in such a relatively short period of time, Little Fugitive's tan at the same time telling me they likely had run the snot out of her for extended periods of harness time out in the sun to get her up to scratch in comparison with my other ponygirls. Sam then asked me deadpan if I wanted to see her run first, or if I would rather see some of the other the tricks she has learned in my absence, the latter sounding like a quasi confession to me, although one obviously not necessary in my opinion.

"Tricks?" I asked with all the innocence in my voice that I could muster. "What have you guys been up to in my absence?" I queried with a mock seriousness that Sam saw right through.

"Not just us 'guys', the ladies have taught her some tricks as well" Sam offered, throwing my entire staff under the proverbial bus in one fell swoop. One can't work with these pretty beasts and not have some fun with them from time to time as I well knew, I curious to see what other non traditional tasks she had learned from my staff in my absence.

Sam had Little Fugitive hitched to a utility wagon quickly enough to let me know this was not the first time for her to be pulling such a wagon all on her own, that in itself rather impressive for a mount of her stature. The pace was easy and the grade gentle as we made our way into the secluded part of my holdings, Sam driving and giving our tiny ponygirl only gentle slaps with the leather reins on her bare shoulders to motivate her along, I knowing first hand that the bit shaking against her teeth communicated her drivers intentions quite clearly alone.

 ...I found myself nearly mesmerized by the seductive flexing of Little Fugitive's building muscles, her once compact body coming along in a delightful way, my smallest ponygirl ever perhaps with some true potential after all. Such would take it's toll on her once petite body, but aid in her disguise to help keep her hidden from the authorities, and her rightful consequences back at Grandview...

The spring in her step that went from her building muscular flanks all the way to her shod feet couldn't be missed by one with a critical eye toward these pretty beasts, Little Fugitive apparently happy in her simple task without the bothers of the world to cloud her thoughts. In this I must admit that I envied her, but not so much so as to wish to trade places with her once again. 

 My prominent brand on her muscular little rump couldn't be missed either, the purpose of which was for her own best interest, but it did at the same time make me wish to rub at my own branded backside as a touchstone to my harnessed past. 

...We eventually got to the spring fed pond at the far side of the property, there being a hitching post and some benches under a massive live oak tree where the jockeys could ride to and have some lunch out of the noon day sun as a diversion for both them and their mounts when they had earned the privilege, the setting both idyllic and remote.

Little Fugitive was sporting a sheen of perspiration on her tiny body that gave evidence to the silent labor she had given to transport both Sam and myself to this lovely setting, I suspecting the purpose obviously, but not the details. She was a happy ponygirl, and happy to be here, giving the conscience that I regularly denied having a full and unconditional pardon for the sorted way I had acquired her. We had much in common, her and I, and this is one of the reasons I had wished to limit our interactions less I compromise her training with any foolishly misplaced anthropomorphisms.

Sam unhitched her and walked toward to the bench directly under a massive limb of the mighty live oak, Little Fugitive straining at the reins in his right hand in her haste to get to the bench. He had in his left a coil of heavy rope retrieved from the back of the wagon, such things as common as dirt on any farm and not even noticed in the wagon by myself earlier.

The coil of rope was actually two, and after Little Fugitive laid down on her back on the bench with her arms at her sides Sam wrapped several coils of it around the middle part of her body and the long bench, pinning her body to the bench, and her arms to her sides even though she put up not one ounce of resistance. Little Fugitive liked to be bound in place so she could struggle in a futile effort to escape that which she didn't want to. It was part of her rather complex submitance to proper authority, and she almost certainly got off on it. Such things in my experience, are part of ones inner character, and Sam was wise to see this for what it was and make creative use of it, even if for somewhat self serving purposes.

The second coil Sam tossed over the heavy limb of the live oak, and in short order he had her ankles suspended and straining in different directions due to the girth of the heavy overhead limb as her muscular butt was held off of the bench.

"Do you want some privacy J.M.?" Sam asked. "The other ladies all claim she's the best little stress reliever they've ever mounted."

"Really? What do you think the odds are of she bringing that particular skill with her and not learning it here instead?" I asked rhetorically, I knowing Little Fugitive's sorted history from her candid manuscript as well as my discussions with her former editor.

"What was that old saying? 'Never look a gift horse in the mouth'" Sam retorted good naturedly and with a knowing smirk.

Conceding Sam's point with a smile of my own I decided to give Little Fugitive a ride to see if the other ladies were on to something, she was after all in the perfect position for me to use. She was also my property to do with as I willed, and this place of mine could be stressful for me as well.

How to do this without telling my valued employee to get lost, nor giving him a show I didn't wish to was the problem, but the solution simple, all while limiting my exposure to this man whom I needed to continue respecting me after this day. Long skirts are just wonderful things, especially light ones designed to let the air flow about ones legs and keep you cool while protecting your modesty, and it was a simple thing to send Sam back to the wagon to fetch my buggy whip while I stepped out of my panties discreetly in his absence.

With my panties tucked into my skirt pocket I looked down into Little Fugitive eyes as she was pinned down on her back helplessly, (she had been watching me shuck my panties most intently) and then she up into mine with an apparent willing eagerness to show off still another skill she had mastered here at my ponygirl ranch. I was already impressed with her ability to pull both Sam and myself, and our small wagon to this oasis, this just icing on the cake for me... or a diabolical trap if she were somehow pretending to be a fully broken ponygirl for just this opportunity.

Such deception was highly unlikely, as my team, (to obviously include my own rather unique harnessed perspectives), had over one hundred years of combine ponygirl experience. But, Little Fugitive was a clever one, and I hadn't broken her personally, the possibility of deception, and serious bodily injury for me should the most dangerous parts of her restrained body be allowed to wreak havoc on the most tender parts of my own always possible if she should be inclined to seek some retribution for what I had put her through to date.

Little Fugitive then licked around her bit in anticipation and sinuously wiggled her bound body in her restraints, she communicating her desires most clearly (although silently) even though she apparently would be doing all of the giving with little in return. To say I was aroused would be a lie, but I was curious enough to see what my little pet could do, the cautious part of me at the same time wishing to remind her that if she should get rough with me as only another woman would know how, I would return the favor to her own helplessly exposed neither regions one hundred fold with my buggy whip.

I then removed her bit and mounted up, swinging my leg over her as if mounting a natural born pony for a ride, she of course my improvised saddle this particular time. For my own modesty with Sam I ended up covering her with my long flowing skirt with my back to her splayed legs, she left to attempt to work her magic on my female parts before she suffocated under my skirt, if she could.

She most certainly was not a lover, but a skilled tool none the less as I soon found myself grinding my hips about and mashing my covered right breast with my free left hand, my right unwilling to put down the crop just in case it were needed though... I was almost there several times despite my earlier apathy toward giving her a try, but her expert command of my neither regions allowed her to pull back and prolong the experience time and again, but for what purpose other that to demonstrate HER temporary command of me?

I was cognizant of her over hot breath under my long skirt, but her lack of oxygen was apparently no motivation to seal the deal and finish me off, and I had no intention of dismounting until she did. I knew that this ponygirl of mine was either toying with me, or waiting for something, the latter I should have seen coming despite it happening behind me, but in all fairness I was preoccupied. I had forgotten all about Sam, for a time that he was even there with me, but was reminded of his presence when I felt my mount's bound body roll forward under me.

Little Fugitive had stopped what she was doing for me when Sam first pushed into her, her body arching under me to the extent that her bonds allowed and Sam moving my crop from the area I had been holding it lest I accidentally injure what was likely a very tender part of his own male anatomy.

 Sam's thrusts into our bound play toy were at first deep and slow, but to her credit she resumed her efforts on my behalf once Sam got into a proper rhythm with her, at least until she clenched up those magnificent building muscles of hers and snorted out in the first pangs of orgasm. It was a magnificent thing to feel from this perspective, like a great rumbling earthquake rolling across her bound body as I went along for the ride...

When it was finally over and her tremors subsided I then became jealous of what she had just gotten, and I not yet, this little pony girl of mine quite entertaining in more ways than one. Sam then disengaged my little mount, but he seemed to not have gotten there himself... yet, he only then to reengage her somewhat lower, she grunting with an intrusion most human girls just don't care for.

Pony girls are different though, they do what they do once broken in with little thought by design, Sam apparently liking this kind of thing, and such was a revelation to me. This is no judgment on my part though, just an observation. At the same time it could be said that this was no hardship for Little Fugitive, she rolling her compact little body along under me and possibly enjoying Sam's attentions as much as his earlier ones despite her guttural grunts with his every thrust.

Once again Sam established a rhythm with Little Fugitive, and she then resumed her efforts on my behalf in earnest, my own orgasm given with no teasing this time and quite intense due to her earlier almost there technique. I bit my lip so as not to scream out and embarrass myself in Sam's presence as foolish as that now seems, and when I finally came down I had to admit that the other ladies were right in their assessment of Little Fugitive's "tricks" and I felt tired, but wonderfully relaxed.

For Sam's own modesty I allowed him to finish off himself as I dismounted and walked away with my back to the pair, but strangely enough I heard our little mount howl out in a second orgasm, Sam doing who knows what to make that happen, or possibly Little Fugitive getting off on what Sam was doing on it's own. I never had a single time, but that doesn't mean all ponygirls are wired the same either... 

Needless to say we didn't run Little Fugitive that day as she was spent, but the following morning I did personally, she hitched to my personal sulky by my own hand and looking terrified by the break in tradition. I had experienced her tricks first hand the previous day, and that she was a happy little pony girl, but that wasn't my primary concern, racing was. Could she run? Was she fast in the first quarter, or better saved for the last? How did she respond to the whip, or did she even need it? It were these and a hundred other questions that I needed to know the answer to so that I could coach the woman I intended to place as her jockey, most especially since the woman I had in mind had no skills that I were aware of in either the saddle, or sulky.

A shake of the reins had my little mount walking out of my barn and toward my track, my employees taking notice that I was both back in town, and back in the proverbial saddle once again. Mine was an early start by design, and Little Fugitive and I were first out on the track, and I set for her a very easy pace around the first lap to warm her up in the chilly morning air. 

My second time past the start finish line I snapped the reins firmly and then checked the second hand on my watch, my little ponygirl accelerating under it's proportionally heavy burden unimpressively. Despite it's slight (but building) stature, experience told me there was far more in there than what it was giving me, but just to have some sort of benchmark of my own and independent of Sam's recorded times with his large self in the sulky I decided to forgo the whip on this first ever run together for us.

With snapping the reins smartly on it's bare shoulders as it's only physical motivation it turned a very unimpressive 3:21 on the first circuit, I walking my mount down and wondering how Sam had turned an even faster time with his bulk in the sulky. It was cool out, but Little Fugitive wasn't even cracking a good sweat like it had the previous day... yet, telling me this little bitch was holding out on me. 

Why was the question all good jockey's might ask themselves, as did I. Did it prefer a male jockey, or had it been unintentionally conditioned exclusively to the whip? Some mounts needed the whip to properly perform, I not a personal fan of such treatment if it can be avoided, but I'm not the least bit squeamish about it either, if necessary.

It would only ever be practical to have a light weight jockey behind this particular little ponygirl. And if it didn't want to get breed to death by the ponyboys as a consolation prize for finishing dead last, and then perhaps even legally sold off against my will to the one woman in the world who would truly make it's life in the harness a living hell, I had better find a way to make it run mid pack at least.

As I was finishing my cool down lap basically walking down Little Fugitive, one of my female jockey's came onto the track with Buxom Betty, her own training mount for the day. BB (for short) was a muscular and powerful ponygirl in it's last year of competition, a real powerhouse with long legs that had to be held back for the big races less it finish first still one more time and satisfy one of the threes clauses in its contract and be granted a kind of early pardon from it's obligation to me, before maximum profits were achieved. 

A place or a show, (second or third place finishes), were fine with me, and the people watching and gambling on these races obviously if they were wise enough to see the signs for themselves and place their best accordingly. There was just no hiding BB at any event these days though, great stats, and a great big and muscular tan body accompanied by it's massive and flopping utters when it was made to run hard, those massive assets earning it it's tongue in cheek racing name from me.

When I had first acquired BB she was tall and overweight, a very pretty girl still the same, but she wanted to loose weight and get toned up at almost any cost, and I promised her that I could do that for her. She as a result signed my binding standard threes contract herself and became my de facto property for racing after a tour of my facility that very day.

 I had discovering years ago that one truly doesn't look a gift horse, (or ponygirl), in the proverbial mouth when one with such obvious potential lands almost in your lap. Had I let her go back home that day almost three years earlier she might not have came back, although technically there was a necessary twenty-four hour waiting period for legal acquisitions, but she had traveled quite far to get to my ranch and have her tour, and she had no place to stay and contemplate the gravity of her commitment before signing, other than one of my recently empty stalls. 

It was an easy thing to have her back date the contract in her own hand to one day earlier and keep it technically legal, I then in exchange keeping my promise to have her locked into both proper tack and in her own stall by night fall to start her training, which I did. I had broken that one personally over the course of the next week, it constantly bitted when not actually eating and drinking so I didn't have to hear it's whining and crying about it changing it's mind. Did it think I were playing at this? I thought incredulously at the time. Did it not see the other ponygirls in their stalls as naked and harnessed as it would soon be? Did it not see their curious names on their stalls itself and realize that this was very real? Or for that matter, did it not see for itself the blank and vacant stares of the naked and toned ponygirls staring back at her through the bars of their own stalls when she was on her tour? 

Despite all this I would oddly enough miss BB at the end of the racing season, it had eventually made my ranch and myself a fair bit of money, and it had become the kind of product that I was famous for producing these days, this little thing in front of me at the moment threatening to ruin all that though should things go poorly.

There was at the same time something deep down fun, although I know this sounds sadistic, about breaking a young woman, in converting her from a human woman into an "it" a ponygirl, for the rather self serving purposes of profit and racing. Once they became named racing stock I tried to not even think of the ponygirls as human, it's hard to do at times, but my experiences with both the very profitable BB, and myself, proved that this is the best way to manage a human ponygirl ranch. They were in the end nothing more than investments of both time and money, and one invests to yield a profit.

I had become an I.P.R.L.  grand champion behind BB that second year of it's racing career, that ponygirl, once fully broken, ran like the wind to escape my whip when in the last quarter, or just about anywhere else for that matter. It was wicked fast, but wicked tempered as well, it would also bite and kick if given the chance, but if managed properly those attributes can be useful to a skilled jockey.

At my waving suggestion I then invited BB's jockey to line up with me so we could have a little informal race to see what Little Fugitive could do against a real seasoned high energy runner, by then several of the staff were out by the rail to watch for themselves the spectacle one way or the other... 

to be continued....

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18.08.18