CHAPTER TWELVE: "It's a Long Way to Tip a Rorie"
JULIA TOSSED HER HEAD, shooing away the fly that was determined to land
on her nose. A slick spot of drool drizzled down her chin as the bit gag kept
her teeth and lips parted. She was hot, sore, sweaty. The rubber ponysuit
trapped everything inside - there was not even an opening whereby she could
relieve herself. Only her face and breasts were exposed to the light of day.
Julia wanted desperately to clean herself, but knew that that was just wishful
thinking. She was doomed to remain a pony until at least the end of the golf
match, and after that, who knew what was in store? Julia certainly did not.
Her heart thumped as she and her fellow ponygirl pulled the cart
carrying the two Mistresses down the fairway. She concentrated on lifting her
feet as high and prettily as she could - she had felt Lady Meranda Augusta's
pony whip across her buttocks more than once, thank you very much, and had no
interest in receiving any more decorative pink stripes. But her mind constantly
wandered off to a deeper, darker place: The Bet. She and her beloved Maitresse
Alison, were the stakes in a hideous bet with that, that - Lady Meranda!
Incroyable!
The fly landed on Julia's breast and began to crawl around the way flies
do. Its hairy legs and sucker feet tickled in a most annoying way. Julia longed
to swat it away but her hands, covered in rubber bondage mitts, were secured to
the frame of the carriage.
A pull on the reins drew the bit hard against the corners of her mouth,
forcing her head back. Julia came to a stop. The butt plug wiggled inside her as
her tail twitched when she stamped her feet like an impatient horse. She was in
luck, for the fly buzzed off.
"NNNnnnn!" she whinnied in surprise at the sharp pain of a whip across
her butt cheek.
"Be still," came her beloved Maitresse's sharp rebuke.
Julia stood quietly as Alison came around to the front of the carriage.
Alison reached forward and softly caressed her ponygirl's breast. Stroking the
hard nipple, she kissed Julia on the forehead.
"Don't worry my sweet pet," Alison whispered, her breath hot in Julia's
ear. "I won't lose you, ever."
Eyes wide with pleasure and trepidation, Julia whinnied softly and
nodded her head up and down. Alison patted her cheek, then turned back to the
fairway.
A shiny white ball was nestled cozily in the well-manicured grassy
fairway. A red flag flapped in the breeze, just a couple of dozen yards away.
"Looks like a wedgie," commented Lady Meranda from the cart. Alison
nodded, that was her thought exactly. She selected her pitching wedge from the
bag in the back of the cart.
Alison carefully addressed the ball, shortening her backswing but
following through in a graceful arc. The golf ball rose high in the air before
dropping with a plop! on the lush green. It rolled to a stop just a foot or two
from the pin.
"Excellent shot , Alison!" commended David.
Alison smiled at Julia as she turned back toward the cart. She patted
her pet slave on the arm as she walked by to return her club to the bag.
Meranda chipped her ball to the green. It rolled past the pin and came
to a stop. David's ball rested in the longish grass at the edge of the green.
"Well, we'll see if everything rolls downhill," he jested. David tapped
the ball with his putter, the white orb scampering down the slope toward the
pin.
"Go!" encouraged David.
The ball stopped short by a few inches.
"Ah, too bad, David," sympathized Meranda. "We'll give you that one."
David smiled as he retrieved his ball.
"Meranda, you're away," said Alison.
Crouching, her opponent sized up the shot. Alison watched David watch
Meranda. He stood just to the side where he could admire her luscious figure.
Her breasts swelled against the tight cotton of the golf shirt, nipples hard as
they rubbed against the cloth. Her buttocks formed a delicious heart shape as
she squatted, measuring her next shot. Unaware of his action, he licked his
lips.
Meranda rose slowly to her feet, then stood over her ball, ready to
putt. Her back was now to David. Alison couldn't help but play the voyeur as she
watched David's slow sizzling examination of Meranda's smooth legs and
deliciously rounded bottom.
The click of putter against golf ball snapped Alison's attention back to
the game. Lady Meranda's ball rolled down the gentle slope toward the pin.
Suddenly, it caught an unseen depression in the ground, and curving, rolled just
past the targeted opening.
"No!" exclaimed Meranda to see her ball stop just inches past the pin.
"And I was shooting for a birdie!"
Alison expressed her condolences with a sardonic grace. She lined up her
shot - an easy 3 footer. Carefully, she tapped the ball. It rolled straight away
and fell into the cup with a thunk.
Picking her ball up from the hole in the ground, Alison smiled.
"That's a three for me," she said matter-of-fact, her heart pounding
with excitement.
Six holes into the bet, and Alison was now up by one.
David placed the flagpole back into the cup.
"Well, that was one over for me, but you ladies! Meranda, you shot par
and Alison scored a birdie! Congratulations."
"Thank you, David!" Flush with her success, Alison beamed.
"The two of you are playing very well. And with such intensity. " David
looked quizzically at the two mistresses. "Almost as if you are betting on the
outcome," he continued.
Meranda smiled sweetly.
"I think both of you will enjoy this next hole," she purred. "It has an
amusing challenge to it."
THE SMALL GROUP BROKE through the trees into a bright and sunny
clearing. Alison, ever aware of the stakes, diligently perused the small sign
describing the next hole. 428 yards. A dogleg to the right, sand on either side
of the green. And what looked like a creek running through the middle of the
fairway.
Alison looked down the fairway.
"What's this, Meranda?" she asked.
"Another one of our little challenges my love," replied her challenger.
"This is our longest drive competition, and what you see out there are the
markers." She indicated several figures standing in the fairway. "There are
three markers for the three best drives. And prizes, naturally."
The golfers looked out at the course ahead. An art critic would describe
it as a lovely pastoral scene, worthy of Gainesborough, replete with lush oaks,
cottonwoods and birches foresting on either side of the long narrow ribbon of
grass. A blue jay's raucous call echoed in the summer air.
"Well ladies, your scores are tied and you both parred the last hole.
Who has the honours?" asked David, juggling his ball in the air.
"I believe I do," said Alison, striding purposefully toward the tee box.
"By the way, I must mention the catch about this hole," said Meranda.
"You mustn't hit any of the markers: it's a two stroke penalty for you, not to
mention a pretty bruise for the slave."
"Thank you for the warning," replied Alison sardonically as she drove
the plastic tee into the hard packed earth. She positioned herself and took a
practice swing before stepping up to the ball. Her shot rocketed away from the
tee, veering off to the right.
"Damn!" she said out loud. The ball rolled to a stop at the edge of the
forest about 90 yards from its launching place.
"Lady Meranda," said David. "You're up."
Meranda took her place on the tee. She sighted down the fairway, then
stretched, sinuously, like a feline in heat. Glancing over her shoulder, she
caught David admiring her body, and smiled.
"David, darling," Meranda cooed. "Why don't we have a little bet on this
hole?"
"Why Meranda," exclaimed David in surprise. "That would be fun." His
smile became a leer. "And positively wicked. Whatever shall we wager?"
Coyly, Meranda strutted over to where he stood. "Longest drive wins,"
she said, her voice deliberately pitched low and seductively husky. "The loser
must do whatever the winner asks. Over there." She gestured in the direction of
the woods rimming the fairway.
David, his eyes glistening with desire, smiled. "It's a bet, my lovely
Meranda," he leered.
Standing on tiptoe, she leaned into David and kissed his cheek.
"Done," she whispered into his ear. Her pink tongue flickered into his
ear like a snake searching for prey.
Meranda sashayed back to the tee box. She didn't bother with a practice
swing but just smacked the ball, hard. She watched it fly, bouncing just to the
side of the nearest marker-slave before rolling to a stop.
David's ball was long, hard, and accurate. Too accurate. Bouncing once
on the fairway, the ball struck the farthest marker-slave smack on the upper
chest, flipped high in the air and dropped back about ten feet.
"Too bad," purred Lady Meranda. "If you had been over to either side
just a touch, you'd have the longest drive. Instead of a two stroke penalty."
"Oh well," replied David. "Can't win them all." He smiled.
"Why David, you're taking this very well," baited Meranda. She stroked
his arm in a familiar, feminine manner. "Don't worry darling, there's more to
come."
David bowed, a courtly yet sardonic gesture. "Lady Meranda is too kind,"
he said.
She smiled her mischievous smile at him. "We'll see," she said. She
patted his groin, then looped her arm through his. "Walk with me," she said,
turning on her heel. She looked over her shoulder at Alison. "Alison dear, why
don't you bring up the ponies?" she condescended.
"Bitch," was Alison's thought as she climbed into the carriage.
Taking the reins in her hand, Alison drove the ponies forward to where
her ball lay waiting. As she trotted down the fairway, the markers came into
clear view.
No one would ever criticize Lady Meranda for not being creative as a
Domme. Three slaves had been singled out to be markers, with the risk of being
targets. Sensory deprivation and ease of movement were the guidelines. Two males
and a female had had all their orifices filled and plugged. Male dangly bits
were laced in sheaths, then tied snug against the lower abdomen. Each slave had
been dressed in heavy rubber catsuits, with high collars, feet and mitts for
hands. Inflatable hoods covered the heads, rubber tubes fitted up the nostrils
to enable breathing to take place. Once dressed, the now identical rubber beings
were laced into exquisitely tight full body bags. No unassisted movement was
possible, with the exception of one: the marker could fall over.
As she, Meranda and David approached, Alison could see that two of the
"markers" wobbled unsteadily in place; the third and farthest away lay supine on
the ground.
"Oh dear," mocked Meranda, "one of the markers has fallen over! David,
your drive knocked it down! That's too bad."
"Why is that, Meranda?" queried David.
Meranda smiled sweetly. Her eyes sparkled with more mischief. "Well
David," she began. "The marker slaves were cautioned about what would happen if
they fell over."
"Punishment most severe?" David said with a malevolent smile.
"Definitely," replied Meranda. "Most severe."
She called out. "Alison, there's your ball." Meranda pointed to a white
spot on the grass to her right. "At least you have a good position." Her lips
pursed in a sarcastic smile. "But who knows what position you'll be in later,
hmm?"
A shudder coursed through Julia. The slave cum pony understood what Lady
Meranda was up to - she was trying to throw her beloved Maitresse Alison off her
game. And Julia knew her Maitresse well enough to know that Alison was indeed
rising to the bait. Julia feared for what could happen. If Alison became angry
or upset, she and Julia could end up in Lady Meranda's stable! If only she could
stroke and kiss her Maitresse in that secret special way they shared, and calm
her down! Julia stomped her feet in frustration. She threw her head back and
whinnied, hoping to distract Alison's mounting anger.
"Quiet Julia!" barked Alison.
The pony slave whimpered quietly. Julia turned her eyes skyward.
"Dear Gods of this silly game", she prayed. "Help my beautiful Maitresse
to stay calm and steady as I know she is! Do what you will with me, but do not
let my beloved go astray!"
Thwack!
Alison's follow-through was smooth and sweet, the head of her club
scribing a perfect arc against the clear blue sky.
"Nicely hit!" praised David.
The ball sailed away, racing down the sloping fairway before beginning
its descent to earth. Alison raised her hand to shade her eyes, watching for the
ball's final destination.
It splashed into the creek some 150 yards away.
"Shit!" said Alison under her breath.
"Merde! Nous sommes perdues!" thought Julia.
"Aw, tough luck, Alison," commiserated David. "That's a penalty stroke
for sure."
Meranda smiled. "David, I think I'd like to claim my winnings now," she
said. Beckoning him to follow, Meranda headed into a copse of trees on the side
of the fairway, leaving Alison to hit again.
David walk, then hurried his pace to catch up to Lady Meranda. Reaching
her side, David leaned close and appeared to be saying something. Her laughter
peeled across the fairway.
Alison watched the two figures disappear into the shade of the trees
before turning her attention back to her game.
"Bitch!" she swore, placing a new ball on the ground.
DAVID PLACED HIS HAND on Meranda's shoulder. She stopped and turned to
face him.
"My, you're eager to please, aren't you," she teased, stepping back from
his enthusiastic embrace. She pointed at his bulging crotch. "Show me what've
got there, David," she toyed.
Smiling, David unfastened his pants, which promptly dropped down to his
knees. His swelling manhood was clearly defined by the silk bikini-style
underwear he wore.
Stepping closer, Meranda smiled. She pressed her hand against his silky
crotch. Her hot, wet tongue flicked at the sensitive flesh of David's ear. He
moaned in pleasure at both touches. He could feel her breasts pressing against
his chest.
"David," she whispered, her breath hot, sultry, wet in his ear. "I want
your tongue inside me." She squeezed his swollen cock for emphasis.
"Mmm yes, Lady Meranda," he gasped.
She stepped back and in one single practiced motion, drew her golf shirt
over head. She tossed it to the side. It caught on a tree branch and dangled
there.
Like a hungry infant, David leaned forward to suckle Meranda's full
breasts before the shirt was even over her head. She threw her head back,
honeyed hair swirling, at the touch of his mouth against her cool freckled
flesh.
The slurping sounds of a man devouring a woman's breasts filled the
shaded grove. Meranda's breath grew ragged, more shallow. Placing her hands on
his shoulders, she pushed his head down. David bit and sucked at the well-tanned
flesh of her abdomen as she forced him lower.
The waistband of her shorts hit his chin. He turned his attention to the
cloth that lay between him and his goal. Roughly he unbuttoned the waistband and
pushed the cloth down over Meranda's ample hips.
A bright blue material appeared from beneath the tight white cotton.
David kissed Meranda's navel as he continued to work her shorts over her hips.
He could feel the slickness of rubber on his hands as he ran them over her
well-defined buttocks.
Meranda raised her legs and wiggled out of the shorts. She was naked
except for the shiny blue latex panties.
David hungrily kissed and licked the rubber from the waistband down to
the treasure between her legs. His tongue felt the cold steel of a zipper, but
he could not see anything to pull it open. He felt Meranda's ass with both
hands, kneading the ripe muscular flesh. Meranda's hips thrust themselves into
his face.
A round loop of steel met his fingers - he had found the pull to the
zipper! He began to draw it down.
"No," demanded Meranda, her voice husky with desire but firm like the
Dome she was. "With your mouth", she ordered.
She turned around, pressing her rubber-covered cheeks into David's face.
David's lust was powerful, so strong he had no will to resist this
captivating temptress. The steel between his teeth was surprisingly cool. He
pulled down with his head, the zipper parting to reveal the sweet flesh within.
His nose pressed into the hot moist crack as it was revealed. He could smell
Meranda's most intimate parts, gathering with his olfactory nerves the scent of
her passion and desire.
She straddled his head as he reached the hidden spot at the bottom of
the panties. His direction changed as he now must pull upward. Her labia sprang
into view, swollen and inflamed with lust, the pink contrasting with the
cerulean rubber panties.
The zipper rose as high as it could travel. David's hot wet tongue
burned Meranda as he trailed it down the tender skin now so exposed. Blonde,
curly pubic hairs waved like wheat in a field as first he blew on them, then
buried his face to harvest their sweetness.
She pushed his head lower, lower to the desired spot.
Placing a hand on each luscious cheek, David pressed his mouth into her
feminine core. He sucked on the hard bud of her clit, his tongue flicking back
and forth.
"Yes!" breathed Meranda, "just like that!" Her hands at the back of his
head held him captive.
David moved his head up and down, then in circles, lapping, kissing,
nibbling, licking. His tongue probed her coral flesh, her juices running freely
to mingle with his saliva. The taste of her filled his mouth.
"Oh! Unh! " grunted Meranda as her pleasure began to crescendo. "Don't
stop! Don't ...nnnNNNN! YES!"
Alison heard Meranda's exclamations of pleasure rise up from the woods
like a grouse from tall grass.
"Bitch", she muttered under her breath.
