Gromet's PlazaPonyGirl/PetGirl Stories

The Investigative Reporter 9: Finding A Winning Mount

by Jackie Rabbit

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© Copyright 2015 - Jackie Rabbit - Used by permission

Storycodes: M/f; FM/f; naked; stall; barn; display; harness; boots; cart; bdsm; crop; ponygirl; objectifed; con/reluct; X

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Part 9: Finding A Winning Mount

Beth continued to write during the day, and then pull the editor in his heavy wagon during the early evening, the man at least learning how to hitch her properly to it himself. Her hands were cuffed to the staves of the cart not because it duplicated her earlier efforts at Grandview, but simply because the man driving her liked the way her cuffs looked on her.

Beth never complained about her time harnessed to the wagon either, specifically refused to, and on their third outing around the perimeter of the summer house's holdings had managed to complete the circuit on the perimeter path.

That was obviously a personal accomplishment to be proud of, especially since the editors contributions toward her goals had been nil at best. This wasn't the mere guiding of the powerful women harnessed behind her, but an actual solo accomplishment under adverse conditions. Beth also realized she had once again found herself playing at a mental game of sorts, despite her intentions not to. The man pretending to drive her falling short on all his bluster and sexual innuendo, not to mention being little more than dead weight holding her reins.

In a second moment of introspection Beth realized her attempts to illuminate the girls plight were as second rate as one would expect with her relatively comfortable pretend incarceration, the editor for all his bluster not up to the task of driving her with the ferocity she needed. The man was hopelessly out of his element in her opinion, it wasn't his fault, just as her driver from back at Grandview would be out of his element running a big city newspaper.

The manuscript would eventually be completed with it's multitude of rewrites, the first non fictional half of it at any rate, but far from the masterpiece it would need to be to earn her Pulitzer, or likely even publication. The conclusion to her story was still another matter entirely, her treatment at the editor's hand anticlimactic when compared to her Grandview experiences, and not likely to inspire any worthy conclusion for her to write. Readers might pick up her book if it could somehow find itself in publication, but would any finish it, and if they did would it move them?

Beth would be surprised to learn that the editor had similar thoughts on his suitability for the task at hand, as well as fears that any book he could somehow publish, or have published, could turn a profit. Profit was the crux of the story, it would be one thing to jump into the publishing business with a success, quite another for a successful newspaper man to jump into a provocative failure the first time out of the proverbial gate.

With the workmen finally finished with the extensive modifications of the barn's interior, Beth was moved into it after the hired help had left for the day. The timing of her move let her get settled into her new accommodations still barn like exterior long before the man's lovely wife's scheduled return. The stalls barred doors had proper locks now, reminiscent of the holding cell Beth had briefly occupied while in custody at the police station. The stalls for all intents and purposes were just holding cells by another name with their heavy floor to roof doors, the workmen not intended to realize what they were building for their employer, with or without his change in plans mid way through the curious project.

Beth also couldn't help but to notice that there were several locked stalls, yet she only needing one herself, she wondering at the motivation to build such a place when she first was walked into it. It at least had proper facilities, as well as a wash down stall that could also serve her needs as an improvised shower, the open stall with floor drainage however not allowing for any privacy at all. Conspicuously absent was any electric lighting, that part of the barn looking much as it had since it's construction before such things were common in out buildings. Stock animals didn't need lights, and their unpredictable actions could lead to shorted wires and a barn fire with catastrophic results, especially if the poor beasts, (human or otherwise), couldn't escape on their own.

It was a curious contradiction to the Grandview bunkhouse of her written words, and she wondered where the motivation for this apparent change in plans came from. The man had read her words and proven his attentiveness, so this prison like barn had to be the result of some other source of information, it not his own imagination, or so she thought. The two moved her bed from the room she had been using, as well as her desk and writing materials for obvious reasons, the comfortable bed a luxury she didn't expect, but a welcome one.

The editor brought her meals and drove her and the cart around his estate after the help had left for the day, but Beth realized he was just going through the motions, much as she herself was. The book suffered, not only because of their combined apathy, but limited natural light for writing as well. She found herself back to being a prisoner, but in exchange for her somewhat more compassionate jailer and freedom from abuse, she had traded any hope of a fixed release date. There was also the very real chance that if she were freed, she could one day be picked up again as an escaped fugitive from justice with both predictable, and horrific consequences. That she thought could at least inspire her books conclusion, but not one she wanted to experience in the first person

It was obvious to the editor that something had to be done to salvage the book, not to mention decide what to do with Beth in the long term post Grandview, and the author's return correspondence in fine feminine hand couldn't have come at a better time. J. M. cautioned in her letter that this profession of hers was very much a hands on pursuit and not to be undertaken lightly, and just as there was no substitute for time in the harness for the pony, likewise there was none for time in the saddle, or in this case, the sulky.

J. M. had put her phone number in her hand written letter, and even thought it was hugely expensive the editor called long distance her to ask his questions, hearing in her voice himself that which he didn't believe in her written word. He wondered how there could be an entire shadow organization dedicated to racing humans, but then thought to himself about the recent Olympics. Were not some of the events nothing but humans specifically trained to race other humans? He knew he had to do something drastic to properly motivate Beth to finish her book, the sooner she may find herself wearing those cuffs in his bed, the better for his sanity.

The author was charming, and after establishing she was one hundred percent serious about her purported skills, the editor offered to bring her back East to his summer house as a paid professional to tutor him on the finer points of training a racing mount, he telling the author that he already had a pony he was working with, as well as a holding facility of the kind she had suggested in her fine book.

An unmentioned ulterior motive for inviting the author was her experience with writing such accounts, it would be a difficult story to tell without telling too much. He suspected Beth might not appreciate J.M.'s help on either subject the subject of writing, nor her experience with harnessed girls for an entirely different purpose. The editor had no intention of asking though, it wasn't as if she had a huge choice in the matter if she still wanted to write her masterpiece, her new accommodations and wanted status likely preventing any repeat escapes...

Arriving by first class passage at the station, (paid in full by the editor himself) J. M. was received by the editor's motorcar and driver, and the elegantly dressed woman and her considerable baggage were brought to the summer mansion, the editor opening her door in his own driveway himself. She was a hansom woman in the flesh, but the editor put those thoughts out of his mind as his wife was eventually due to return from her trip, he intending to tell both his wife and the hired help that the woman was truthfully there on a sabbatical of sorts to write. It was in fact the truth, if Beth couldn't write the story properly, the editor now knew somebody who could.

The editor had his staff set the lovely woman up in one of the large guest rooms in full view of everybody. She was after all an author working on a story, and both dressed and acted the part of genteel success that the staff recognized instantly. The two discussed writing a book together hypothetically over dinner in the formal dinning room, the man enjoying her charming company as well as the excuse to dine in fine style, he ordinarily taking his meals alone on the simple kitchen table since his wife's trip. The subject of any book was an obvious one, the editor however wanting to give Beth one last chance to tell her story before he would reassign the task to the more experienced author before him. That could be crushing to Beth, but if necessary she could still become a credited coauthor under such circumstances.

The two dallied overlong at the table as the staff was obligated to stay to clean up, the conversation in keeping with the man's tastes, the subject of Beth not coming up once as the hired help was in earshot. Beth for her part wondered why her dinner was late, she feeling lonely and isolated like a prisoned in solitary confinement. At times like this she even missed her abusive bunk mates, they were rough on her, but there was at least a defined purpose to their actions as well as a certain camaraderie. Here she was just killing time and growing older, her magnificent tan even fading as she only saw direct sunlight in the late afternoon, that time well past at the moment by the angle the sun made through the small slit of a window in her cell.

When the editor and his dinner companion had exhausted subjects to converse about, they left the table to discuss different things in the library with the doors closed as the hired help cleaned up. J.M. was anxious to see the editor's mount, he as of yet not sharing the conditions of her acquisition for obvious reasons. Most jockeys were rather secretive about their sources, that was why J.M.'s book in general had sold to those in the racing community so well.

Would this author feel sympathy toward another in the rather dire straights of her own making, or would it be schadenfreude? In her book she covered this rather lightly. "Few are destine to drive the sulky, however many are suitable to pull it, with proper conditioning." The man knew she had no such feelings of sympathy toward a fellow woman once he had read her book, some of the rougher things she had described were ghastly to contemplate, let alone practice. That, he thought to himself smugly, is why one hires experts.


After the help had left the editor and his companion brought a plate of cold leftovers down to the barn, it was still the same food that the pair had eaten together earlier, but gone was the ornate white cloth service of their meal. Still the pair were dressed properly for the level of service they had received, to do anything less would be to spoil the whole experience.

The editor in his dinner jacket and tie walked alongside J.M. in her fine dress and heels, the pair looking as if they just had returned from the ballet instead on their way oddly enough to visit a barn. The plate was covered by a cloth napkin, but that wouldn't help to warm a meal that had already grown cold. The pair entered, Beth hearing the second set of steps on their approach, she bewildered by their sound.

Beth was already on her feet in anticipation of her late meal, but freezing in place with the woman in the editors company, she feeling more than just under dressed with her visitors fine attire. Beth caught herself covering up with her arms, and wondered why as she had been undressed in the presence of strangers for weeks now. She wondered who this strange woman was, and why she wasn't shocked to see a naked woman caged and harnessed like an animal. As it turns out she didn't have long to wait.

"HANDS DOWN AT YOUR SIDES" the genteel woman barked. Beth complying instantly, her open hands slapping her thighs in the silent barn as the editor suppressed a smile. "Turn slowly for me dear so I can see you properly" she added in a much more civilized tone. Beth shuffled around on her bare feet feeling foolish, her boots only to be put on when she needed them. She felt like another's puppet, roughly grabbed by this well dressed woman she hadn't even been introduced to yet, but one who's tone told her not to misbehave. The editor looked on silently thinking to himself "that's how it's done", Beth realizing at the same moment that she was in no position to object.

"Not like that my pretty little ponygirl, up on your toes like a ballerina so I can see your muscles move." Beth did as ordered feeling even more foolish, her calves and toes burning with the effort as she stopped after a single rotation.

"DID I TELL YOU TO STOP TURNING?" It was obviously a rhetorical question, Beth wisely remaining silent. "Reach your hands up as far as you can so I can see all of your muscles from every angle." Beth started to rotate once again on display like a ballerina in a child's jewelry box, arms high overhead, stretched as if she were suspended from one of the heavy overhead beams by her wrists. She sensed anything less would draw further attention from the well dressed and sharp woman before her.

J.M. turned to face the editor. "Jim, she is a fine looking little thing, good apparent muscle structure on first inspection, obviously in need of some discipline, but tiny. I think it would be wise to throw this one back and select a larger one if you seriously want to be competitive, except of course for that harness."

Beth had stopped turning, realizing they weren't watching her anymore, the shock of hearing the editor's given name used so casually meant this woman had power. Almost no one called him that, and what did the editor need her for to be competitive in anyway she thought.

"What do you mean?" the editor asked.

As if she didn't hear the question, or was ignoring him completely, she instead asked the man where his buggy whip was. The man retrieving the crop instead from it's place on the wall and handed it to her as she intended.

J.M. reached through the bars with blinding speed and cracked Beth's thigh with the crop leaving a welt, her surprised yelp bringing a smile to J.M.'s face. J.M. silently rotated her index finger in the air for Beth to see while still smiling, Beth getting the message loud and clear. Beth started to rotate once again in place like a child's top, in her mind no longer even emulating a harnessed animal, but an inanimate toy.

"Jim, you threw me off here for the first few seconds. I have raced against similarly harnessed beasts many times, but your little ponygirl here isn't big breasted and blond as they almost exclusively are. The harnesses is identical though, strap configuration, rings, even the rivet count and placement. They were however made by the same craftsmen without a doubt. Tell me, where did you get it, and her as well?"

"I'd rather not say"

J.M. turned to address the still turning Beth, who had yet to eat her cold dinner. "You can stop that now dear and eat your food."

"Jim, I read her harness same as you. She was either purchased from Grandview Correctional on the black market from someone there as she's still is in possession of her original numbered harness, or she escaped and then somehow made it here to be in your possession. Don't insult my intelligence, I have no patience for it. In either event, by the way, just having her with that harness here is a crime, and if you don't level with me straight away I'll do my good citizen duty and report you."

"I have a manuscript for you to read that will explain everything in my office, as well as some sketches for you to look at, please don't call the police."

"Fair enough, for now. How about her?"

"She will do anything you want her to as well, the reasons are in the manuscript."

"Very well then, let's hitch her up and go for a ride and see what she can do. I have always been curious as to where a certain competitor of mine gets her premium race stock from".

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