Gromet's PlazaPonyGirl/PetGirl Stories

The Investigative Reporter 4: Observations

by Jackie Rabbit

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© Copyright 2014 - Jackie Rabbit - Used by permission

Storycodes: M+/f+; F+/f; jail; farm; naked; harness; bitgag; ponygirls; cart; race; bdsm; whip; voy; cons/reluct; X

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Part 4: Observations

As both Tracy and Beth were still entwined with each other, Tracy became aware of an audience. Several of the girls had risen to see what was still happening on top of their common table with all the noise the girls had generated, and one of the girls rubbed Tracy's head roughly as she recovered from her exhausting orgasm while still atop Beth. The smiling girl stated the obvious for her watching friends, "Now we apparently have two play toys..."

They finally released Beth once they were done with her, and all the girls went to sleep wonderfully exhausted, and they slept soundly and dreamed of freedom. Beth was woken just as the train rumbled past the distant station as she had become accustomed to, and the girls were once again out first and ready before the rest of the camp. The girls couldn't suppress the smiles they all had, and not just because they would once again get to line up first in the chow hall. They had discovered a way between themselves to make this strange work camp almost bearable, although most of them would be receiving far more than they gave in return. The girls were also in agreement that they would never intentionally do anything again to land them in trouble with the law, including Beth, and on that score alone the humiliating work camp was a success.

With their bellies filled the girls were hitched to a planter this time instead of the plow, apparently to plant the fields they had turned over the preceding week. The planter was a wheeled cart that dispensed seeds in several rows automatically with every turn of it's wheels, their driver positioned on the back manipulating it's simple levers that controlled the seeds. It looked far easier to pull it over the fields, than the plow through the fields, and the team suspected this would be an easy day. There was another team hitched to a similar machine, and their driver called over to Beth's and complimented him on his fine looking team, and their uncanny ability to always rise first in the morning.

The implication was simple, the other driver suspected an unfair advantage. While Beth's driver may have had a clear conscience, she most certainly didn't, and the thought made her smile. The two men resumed their good natured banter, and a wager was offered on the results of a race back to evening chow between the two teams.

The planter turned out to be just as easy for the team to pull as Beth thought it would be, but the other team had the same advantage, and had been at Grandview longer. Their legs and backs looked quite muscular to Beth, and their serious expressions and deep tans lead Beth to believe these girls weren't to be taken lightly. Still Beth's team beamed with pride at their driver's confidence, and they collectively decided if he wanted a race, they would ensure that he won it.

Word had spread of the impending race, and by evening there was a small group of spectators gathered at the finish line, their driver's wife among them holding a handkerchief to signal the finish line and winner of the informal race. The men had apparently done this kind of thing before to break up the monotony of their day, and it was to be a three, two, one, go to start to the race.

Beth never heard the "go", as she took off on the "one" without any command from her driver at all. The team had been conditioned to follow Beth's lead without question, and as each knew this was a race, they collectively bolted from the start line together as the other team started several steps behind once properly commanded by their driver.

Beth had her eye on the prize, their driver's sadistic wife waiting at the finish line. Beth drove the team at her with both fury, and the intention of trampling her into the dirt. The other team ran hard, and Beth heard the crack of their drivers whip on those unfortunate girls somewhere far behind, but they would have to run very hard to catch up after such a slow start.

The teams sounded like thunder pounding down the field road in their "shoes", the more well endowed girls likely flying all over the place as nature never intended. About halfway toward the finish line their drivers sadistic wife became aware of Beth's stare, and common sense demanded she move, but convention demanded she stand her ground at the finish line. Beth was running flat out, not only guiding the team, but dragging them along to the limit that she could. The team responded and actually accelerated toward the finish line instead of slowing down with fatigue, and the sadistic wife retreated slightly from the edge of the road in response.

Beth altered her course ever so slightly, the two women staring each other down, one terrified and unable to move, the other enraged and unwilling to stop. It was an ironic juxtaposition of their earlier confrontation in the field when the sadistic wife poked Beth rudely with her whip while she was helplessly harnessed and bit gaged, and again when Beth's team was driven so hard by the pretty wife to justify her sadistic target practice with her whip. Beth's focus on her target was broken by a slight tug on her reins guiding her right, but Beth and her intended target were too close for that to matter.

The sadistic wife was forced to jump off of the elevated roadway to avoid being trampled by Beth and her team, and she scowled at the laughter directed at her by the others.

It was well known at the farm that the pretty wife had the face of an angel, but the temperament of a snake with those in positions below her own.

Beth's team won easily, and not just because she gained the advantage with an early start. Their driver walked the team down to cool them off after a very hard run, and Beth discovered she could run like the wind with her boots on. Their driver unhitched the team from the planter after it was parked, and he lead Beth by her harness as he spoke to the team quietly.

"That was a very good run, very good indeed. Make sure you rub down those legs tonight else you cramp up for tomorrow."

Beth decided she had more than enough material for her exposé, and she knew she could easily fabricate the rest of the story from the comfort of her apartment back in the city, and far away from the driver's sadistic wife. Beth realized in her fit of rage that she had gone too far with the evil woman during the race, and she had no intentions of seeing how the humiliated wife intended to reciprocate.

That night in bed she rolled the problem over in her active mind, realizing her problem was her identity. She had completely fabricated her Beth persona to land the newspaper job back in the city. While it was true that she had attended some fine schools, she had never actually graduated like she claimed, but instead withdrew to make her way in the world when she became bored with her studies.

As an odd twist of fate, she realized after her arrest and booking that there was far more evidence that she was an unsuccessful petty thief serving out her sentence at Grandview, than Beth the undercover female reporter from the big city newspaper. Beth's petty thief persona had fingerprints that matched her mug shots, and local police who arrested and processed her. She knew that it was unlikely the two lecherous policemen who "helped" her sell off her expensive clothes to the unsympathetic office woman, (and subsequently earn her sack like prison dress by servicing them on her knees), would forget her easily.
She hardly needed their crude praises during the event to know she had given them the best "service" of their lives.

Had her editor discovered her secrets, and was that the real reason she was "selected" for this assignment? Could either he, or his judge friend's suggestion that Beth receive "special attention" in the jail cell from the two burly cops be the reason she had to service them in the first place? Could the editor really be that kind of man?

She knew she couldn't simply ask to be released because she was really a reporter snuck into Grandview to expose their dehumanizing practices. Just speaking outside of their bunkhouses was a ten stroke first offense, not to mention what they would do to her if they actually believed her. There was no evidence to support her story of being a reporter, and more than enough to contradict it. She had after all pleaded guilty to petty theft in a real court of law, and she was fairly sentenced for that crime, albeit by a judge who was supposed to be in on their conspiracy.

Grandview was considered a first offense privilege, instead of going to a real prison with more hardened criminals of both sexes. And likewise her editor couldn't know the dire straits she had placed herself into, and her desire for a rapid rescue, if he even cared. If she asked for release she would be punished for speaking, and then possibly shipped out to a real prison anyway for attempted escape by deception, with a much longer sentence to match. It would make for a wonderful second exposé, but those inmates probably wouldn't be quite as nice to her as her present bunk mates. The railroad was likely the key, but she didn't know what to do with it just yet.


As a reward for winning the race, Beth's team was hitched to a wagon to walk the perimeter of Grandview's massive holdings as their driver maintained the signage. There were signs warning against trespass, picking up hitchhikers, or any kind of photography beyond the perimeter signs. What Beth's team thought was near impossible on their first day, (moving the wagon harnessed like naked stock animals), became a rewarding easy day in comparison to dragging the plow through the rich soil of Grandview's fields.

There were no photographers from her paper in the distance to record Beth's humiliating service, as that would be against the law as stated on the signs. There was however a sketch artist looking at the whole scene through a powerful telescope from a hilltop some distance away.

The man was a freelance sketch artist on special assignment from the editor of the big city newspaper, and he was a rising star in the business. Looking at the inverted images in his telescope, and then replicating them with pencil and paper was a challenge, but the man found the subject matter quite titillating. Truth be told, he had used that same telescope for similar purposes from his big city apartment at night. He was still amazed to this day at what people were willing to do in front of open shades, either for their entertainment, or possibly his. He had made many sketches of those events as well, and intended to publish them one day when he had enough of them in book form.

He had been in the rented room since before the train car arrived with it's unusual cargo all those days ago, with a copy of the petite thief's mug shot and instructions to include her in as many sketches as practical. He was unaware of her true identity, but had watched her and her fellow convicts pull the wagon through town from the comfort of his rented room. He couldn't believe his eyes at first, and was just as amazed at the common way the people of the town watched the girls dehumanizing run, as if this kind of thing happened all the time.

There were few telephones in the small town, and fewer still that weren't party lines and subject to ease dropping. The freelancer reported his incredible observations to the editor after that first day, but he found a discrete pay phone that offered some privacy for the sensitive conversation at the train station itself.

For his part the editor just wanted to see the sketches for himself. He had sent his annoying wife to Europe to see her family, and he was a man in need of stimulating pictures to help him pass the time until his wife's return. His clever wife had insisted on taking their young maid with her to Europe, possibly because she suspected her husband's interests in the lovely young woman were less than honorable. If he had known she would make such a demand he would have never agreed to the trip, as that left him with no full time live in servants for their summer house away from the heat of the city.

Even in Beth's absence the powerful man lusted for her, doubly so once he found out how she was being utilized at the work camp, and not just because his wife had ruined his plans with the pretty maid.

Beth wasn't some young housekeeper easily taken advantage of by her employer, but a sophisticated young woman with an education and desire to succeed equal to his own. On top of that, she was quite desirable in the flesh. She also had a provocative way of dismissing his advances that made his blood boil, as if he were not in her class.

Beth represented his unclimbable mountain, and he had every intention of getting on top of it, one way or the other. Powerful men, he reasoned, were destine to be powerful for a reason. If one chose not to exercise that power from time to time, even in the pursuit of carnal pleasures with ones subordinates, that power could be forfeit to another. It was a version of the editor's simple motto, "Take what you want for yourself, before someone else takes if first." He had stolen his wife from another suitor that same way, she was a desirable prize to be sure, but their repeated copulation had grown less frequent and boring from his point of view. He concluded that she was a stunning woman, with an even more stunning price of ownership that he could live without.


The freelance sketch artist drove his first batch of provocative artwork to the editor's summer mansion personally in the massive trunk of his brand new Ford businessman's coupe. It was the height of 1930's technology, with a sixty horsepower engine, electric starter, and a trunk that didn't have to be strapped to the rear bumper rack like earlier models. It was a huge depression era investment, but for a man with a growing career and a large telescope to transport, a necessary one. It was a pleasurable excuse to drive his fine automobile on the dirt country roads to the editor's breezy summer mansion, it's location chosen both for it's remote location, and mild summer climate. The mansion was easy to find because it was the only structure around with electricity, and telephone service lines running to it, as well as a very large mail box.

The editor couldn't believe what he held in his hands was anything but the highly provocative imagination of his slightly crazy sketch artist, at first, despite his earlier description over the telephone of the events he claimed to witness. It was just crazy enough to be true he reasoned after careful consideration, and if so, Beth's story from the inside of Grandview could easily double his paper's circulation. It could also propel Beth into his bed in the most willing of ways with the new found humility she must certainly now have.

The editor saw the quality of the artist's work, the determination on the girls faces as they labored in the hot sun like animals, and the striking likeness of Beth's pretty face and until now, hidden body. He also captured the expressions of those watching the girls humiliating labor, some were amused, some were titillated, and a just a few looked away from the spectacle in disgust.

The editor was generous with his compliments, and his checkbook, and he sent the man back to Grandview to sketch some more. Once alone with his sketches, the editor fantasized about having Beth at his mansion harnessed to a wagon and pulling him around the estate. He could see himself with her reins in one hand, and a buggy whip in the other, whipping her tiny naked ass to drive her along. There would be other things she would be doing in his fantasies as well, so many in fact that if he could somehow live out his fantasies with Beth in the real world, he would have to find a way to keep her until his wife and their young maid returned from Europe.

To be continued...

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