Pony-Girl Tales - Susanna's Run

By Peter & Penny Birch

After a humiliating punsihment in the village pillory, Annabelle and Bobbie are determined to revenge themselves on their tormentors. To do this, they enlist the aid of the thoroughly debauched Anderson Croom, and if his help comes at a price, then the reults are well worth a little rude attention to their bodies.

• Language: English
• Publisher: House of Erotica
• Release date: Jul 8, 2011
• ISBN: 9781849895033

Book preview

1988.

Chapter 1

In Which We Meet the Evil Uncle.

1985, in an England that never was, but perhaps should have been. . .

Go on then, smack it, Susanna teased, dipping her back to give Jeremy the best possible view of her rounded little bottom. She knew how tempting her bum looked in skin tight jeans and hoped that her offer would bring her husband out of the black mood that he had been in all day.

Jeremy smiled weakly but didn’t respond. She crossed the room and began to stroke his hair soothingly.

I wonder what the old bastard wants this time, he said after a while. Susanna didn’t reply. The old bastard was Jeremy’s uncle, Sir Osmond Cranstone-Vine, a retired financier with a streak of malicious cunning that had made him very rich indeed and which he now mainly employed to makes his nephew’s life a misery. It wasn’t that Jeremy was weak, Susanna told herself, but more that he had been in awe of his uncle his entire life. It was Sir Osmond who had ensured that he got into one of the top public schools, Sir Osmond who had paid the bills and Sir Osmond who had hushed up the potential scandal when Jeremy was caught naked in a bath with the French master’s daughter.

Ever since that fateful day, Jeremy had found his life directed by his uncle. He had been told which university to select, which subjects to study, even which clubs to join, until he came to dread each meeting with the old man. When Jeremy married Susanna fresh out of school, his uncle had been geniality itself, providing lavish presents and insisting on paying for the honeymoon. Since then he had been quiet, ominously quiet. Then the bomb had dropped. A letter had arrived summoning them both to Sir Osmond’s house for the weekend, a summons that Jeremy was unable to ignore. With characteristic arrogance Sir Osmond had stipulated that Susanna should wear a red dress that ended above the knee to set off her jet-black hair, a stipulation that she had only acceded to when Jeremy was on the verge of tears.

Oh well, Jeremy sighed as he rose from his seat, we may as well get it over with.

Susanna followed him, feeling concerned for his misery and angry at the old man. It was Jeremy’s very gentleness that had attracted to him. She had been eighteen at the time, and a model English public school girl, perfectly mannered and socially graceful yet innocent in a way only possible to someone who had spent ten years in a single sex school. Jeremy, three years her senior and a friend of her brother’s, had an easy charm and boyish good looks that had impressed her immediately and they had become engaged while she was still at school. Jeremy in turn had found her strength of character supportive, while delighting in the open pleasure she took in sex. Susanna had little experience, but she also had few inhibitions, never having had the opportunity to acquire either.

After an hour’s drive they arrived at Sir Osmond’s ample house in rural Oxfordshire. He met them at the door, a withered, dwarfish figure in sharp contrast to his nephew. His face was the colour of fish paste, with quick, mobile eyes set in deep sockets and a broad mouth at present twisted into a calculating grin.

Come in, come in, he said, rubbing his hands together. I see you’ve dressed as I asked, my dear, very fetching, yes, very fetching.

Susanna blushed, suddenly very aware of the gentle curves of her breasts and bottom as the old gnome eyed her unashamedly.

Hmm, he said thoughtfully, yes, come into the study. Cognac my dear? No, no Jeremy, you wouldn’t appreciate it. Have some sweet sherry, I always keep a little in case the vicar or someone calls.

For a few minutes Sir Osmond asked casual questions, somehow managing to be extremely disconcerting.

Well, he said finally, to business. As you know, I am not one to beat about the bush. Have you ever heard of Pony-Girls? No? Well, essentially a suitably pretty girl is harnessed to a cart, nude of course, except for her harness and perhaps shoes. She pulls the cart, along with one or more riders. Now. . .

Err. . . Jeremy broke in.

Don’t interrupt, his uncle snapped. "As I was saying, Pony-Girls can be raced, or made to go through dressage or obedience routines. I prefer racing myself, it’s so much more of a challenge.