Penny In Harness Read online

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Copyright

  A NEXUS CLASSIC

  PENNY IN HARNESS

  Penny Birch

  Penny Birch is among the founding members of the BB&L pony-girl club and has been doing it for real since 1994. There is almost nothing in her novel that is not drawn from true experience.

  I would like to dedicate this book to Boudicea, Palomina, Abigail, Tarragon, the real Pinky and the rest of my stable mates — Penny Birch

  One

  There are few things more embarrassing than getting caught short in the middle of nowhere. With hindsight, I knew I shouldn’t have had the second pint of cider when I stopped for lunch at the King Billy. Hindsight was a fat lot of good now, when I was squeezing my thighs together and looking desperately around for somewhere where I could get two minutes’ privacy.

  You’d think it would be easy: in the middle of the Wiltshire countryside, without a town for miles. It was high summer too and the woods and hedgerows were green and lush. Potential hiding places abounded on every side. Hiding places that looked as if they’d lain undisturbed for years, never mind the time it would take me to get my jeans and knickers down long enough to relieve myself. Appearances can be deceptive. The path I was on ran between a high wall to one side and an enormous cornfield on the other. The wall had a wood beyond it, but I couldn’t even reach the top, let alone climb over. The cornfield offered no real concealment. Also, a combine harvester was working slowly towards me, preventing me from nipping across to the inviting-looking line of trees and scrub on the far side. Worse still, there were just enough people using the path to make it impractical for me to whip my panties down and crouch by the wall.

  It was getting to the point when it was a choice between risking getting caught doing it and wetting myself; either one was unthinkable. Determined to reach the distant hedge that marked the end of the corn field, I kept going. I made it, scampering the last few yards, only to find that the hedge bordered a field occupied by the most enormous bull I had ever seen. I squirmed in desperation, crossing my legs. Back down the path, a group of walkers was approaching in the distance: army, by the look of it. In the other direction the path stretched away, the hedge at the far side of the bull’s field offering a last, desperate chance to save my blushes.

  I ran, dodging around an elderberry bush to discover a collapsed section of wall. It was no more than four feet high, with flint and brick rubble making a little ramp. I was through it in an instant, finding myself in a dim wood of massive oaks and blackthorn underbrush. It was perfect. I had dropped my map and was struggling with my belt buckle even as I identified a nice clear space of ground by one of the oaks. An instant later, my jeans were around my thighs; then my panties were down and my back was pressed against the rough bark of the tree, the air deliciously cool on my bare pussy.

  A sensation of utter bliss went through me as I let go, my pee gushing out onto the leaf mould underneath me and splashing my legs and jeans. I didn’t care; at least I hadn’t wet myself or had the unendurably embarrassing experience of being seen with my panties down by a load of army boys. I finished and wriggled my bum to shake the last few drops off, then stood to pull up my pants and for the first time really took in the details of my surroundings.

  I was in a fairly thick wood. Once, perhaps, it had been neat parkland, but now the undergrowth had been allowed to spread unchecked. Blackthorn, holly, smaller bushes and plants grew in profusion, the gap in the wall I had come through now barely discernible among the foliage. Broken sunlight came through the high canopy, creating a cool green space that was a pleasant contrast to the heat of the footpath and open fields. Beyond the wall I could hear voices, evidently the army boys I had seen before. I paused, suddenly in no hurry to go back to the path.

  The wood was obviously private property, but it had an empty, disused look about it and I decided to explore. Moving through the dappled sunlight, I felt a bit like Alice stepping into Wonderland. Not that my surroundings were weird in any way: quite the opposite, in fact. Quiet, peaceful — serene, almost; yet curiously detached from the rest of the world.

  My discovery of a path brought me sharply back down to earth. It had the same look of abandonment as the wood: pressed gravel with worn areas filled by half-dry puddles. There were bicycle tracks too, but there was something odd about them. Instead of the normal criss-cross of tyre imprints where the rear wheel has followed the front, the tracks were parallel and a line of footprints ran between them; or rather shoe-prints, shoe-prints made by dainty high heels. As I studied the marks I heard noises coming from somewhere along the path, outside my range of vision.

  I stepped back into the bushes, suddenly very aware that I was on private property but too curious to simply leave. The noises I had heard had been laughter and a curious smacking noise. Now came the sound of footsteps, moving at a smart jog. I crouched down and pushed a big dock leaf aside so that I could see the path. My mouth fell open as the strangest sight I had ever seen appeared around the corner.

  The first shock was to see a naked girl jogging towards me — or, rather, trotting, as her legs were moving with neat, precise steps. She was trotting like a horse. Also, she wasn’t entirely naked. The bits that mattered were; there wasn’t a stitch to cover the little furry triangle between her legs, while her breasts were bare and bouncing as she went, her nipples stiff with excitement. She had a corset on, black leather and very tight, which nipped her waist in and exaggerated her chest and hips. Boots, too: smart little high-heeled numbers that came just above the ankle, also in black leather and fastened with big shiny metal buckles. The strangest thing was the harness she was wearing; heavy leather belts secured her waist and wrists and she wore a complete bridle, including a bit set between her bright red lips. The top of the bridle caught up her long tawny blonde hair in a beautiful ponytail which had been tied with a smart red ribbon.

  The second shock was what her harness was attached to. Her wrists and waist were shackled to a cart, painted a jaunty yellow and built like a gig, only in miniature. In it sat a handsome young man in full hunting gear: hard hat, pink coat and all, despite the heat. He held a short riding whip in one hand and, as I watched, he used it to flick the girl’s bottom, drawing a muffled squeak from her and an increase in her pace. His expression was one of calm amusement, his eyes fixed on the girl’s rear view.

  As they drew nearer, I noticed a hank of golden hair swishing from side to side between her legs and realised that she had some sort of tail to complete her outrageous appearance. My eyes were riveted to her and, as they drew parallel to my hiding place, I saw that the tail projected up from the base of her spine in a wonderfully realistic manner. It was the same rich tawny colour as her hair and stuck out an inch or two, falling in a graceful arc over her bottom and down to the backs of her knees.

  They went past, my stare following them as they went; her tail swished from side to side across the bouncing cheeks of her bottom. Her buttocks were covered in little red marks where he had used the whip, and she was running with sweat, making her skin damp and glossy. It wasn’t obvious how the tail stayed on but, as he gave her another taste of the whip, the tail swished aside further than normal and I caught a glimpse of a black spine running
between the cheeks of her bottom. I knew she wore nothing at the front, which meant that it was somehow plugged up her pussy — or worse, up her bottom.

  I found myself shivering as they passed out of sight. She had all too obviously been enjoying herself — the blissful expression on her face had shown that — yet I found myself wondering how she could allow herself to be subjected to such indignity, in the name of sexual pleasure. I mean: stripped, made to wear a tail that plugged into her vagina or even her anus, fastened to a cart to be used as a draught animal, whipped across her naked bottom and in all probability thoroughly shafted when her ‘driver’ had finished humiliating her. He’d probably have her from the rear, I considered, while she knelt on the stable floor, still in harness, her bottom stuck up in the air while his cock hardened as he looked at her rear view, the tail falling across her open buttocks, the plug showing in—

  Shaking myself to disperse the disturbing fantasy, I got to my feet and began to retrace my steps. I felt confused: at once shocked and turned on, horrified and delighted. I had always thought of myself as openminded, an unshockable modern girl, but this was something else. As I made my way back through the wood, the vision of the naked sweat-soaked girl and her cool, poised driver kept coming back to me with increasing force. Stepping through the partially collapsed wall and back into the open sunlight calmed my fevered imagination a little, but only until I looked back into the dim interior of the wood.

  Inevitably, now that I didn’t need to pee anymore, there was nobody in sight; the footpath stretched away in both directions, empty. Even the combine harvester driver had stopped for a break, his massive machine looming over the hedge of the bull’s field, silent in the bright sunlight. Now I could have stripped naked and danced the hornpipe, never mind had a quick pee, and nobody would have been any the wiser. To add to the irony, the next field along proved to be planted with maize: tall, ripe and offering ample concealment. It was as I stood looking at the maize that a sneaky little thought came into my head.

  I might not need to pee anymore, but I could certainly do with a good orgasm. Perhaps I could find somewhere quiet and masturbate? No, the idea was too dirty; besides, I was bound to get caught and, if the idea of being seen relieving myself was unendurable, that of being found frigging myself, by some farmer, defied description. On the other hand, I could think about it and work up a really good fantasy for later, when I could do it in safety. I would imagine myself the subject of attention from that cool, handsome young man, allowing him unrestricted access to my body.

  He’d amuse himself with my breasts, fondling them casually, possessively; he’d take his whip to my bottom, just for sport of it, then watch while I lubricated the tight little hole between my buttocks…

  If I didn’t stop, my panties were going to be soaking, and for a quite different reason than before. On the other hand, why restrain myself? I wasn’t doing any harm, and it was stupid to feel guilty about fantasising — or masturbating, for that matter. Beyond the maize field was the stand of trees and scrub I had seen earlier. Surely it would provide enough concealment for a quick frig? Surely the scrub was dense enough? Why would anybody be there, anyway? Trousers and knickers down, ten minutes on my back with my eyes closed and my legs apart, and I’d be there; nobody would see.

  I took my map and unfolded it, which brought home a sudden reality to the idea. A pang of guilt shot through me. Masturbating? In a wood? You little slut, I thought to myself. Yes, a little slut, what a delicious thought. Imagine getting caught, though. Found with my jeans and knickers in a tangle around my ankles, my top up so that I could play with my tits, with one hand on my pussy and the other on a nipple. Any farm boy who found me like that would undoubtedly expect to fuck me then and there. The thought was terrifying — but also thrilling, just so long as it didn’t actually happen.

  Looking at the map, I saw that getting caught was very unlikely. The trees I could see hid a stream in a gully, beyond which were more fields. There was no farm building nearby, nor any track marked in the woods. The idea was becoming more and more compelling. I glanced to where the map showed the woods I had seen the couple in. There was a roughly square area of woodland with a lake at the centre and a symbol marking the site of a ruin, nothing more.

  Determined to carry out my intentions before common sense got the better of me, I glanced hastily to either side to check that the path was empty and climbed the fence into the maize field. The act of leaving the public right of way sent a new thrill through me, a deliciously naughty feeling of anticipation and rudeness. The maize stood to the height of my head, the hedge shielding me from the other side. I ran light-footed down the channel between the two, dodging to avoid the occasional muddy patch. I quickly reached the far end, finding myself in a broad channel between the high maize and the dense scrub. The solitude was absolute; droning insects and the distant bark of a dog were the only sounds. I waited, standing still and listening for possible signs that I had been seen and followed, but none came.

  The next task was to find a quiet place, a really quiet place where I could concentrate. Maybe it would be possible to titillate myself a little first though, to do something rude that would help me to my eventual climax. An idea came to me as I looked around. The thing that had affected me the most had been the girl’s tail and the utterly dirty way it appeared to have been held in up her anus. I didn’t have a lovely black tail to match my hair, but that didn’t mean my bottom had to stay empty. A maize cob would provide the perfect natural dildo; phallic, bumpy, yet clean and abundantly available.

  Most of the cobs were far too large for my unfortunate bottom but a search quickly found one that was just daringly large. I began to peel the husk away, and decided that I ought to perform the whole operation with my knickers down to increase the thrill. I put the cob between my teeth, and my heart was in my mouth as I again fiddled with my belt and slid my jeans and panties down around my thighs, exposing my pussy and bum to the hot sun. My fingers were trembling as I peeled away the rest of the husk, glancing nervously out from among the maize plants. The cob was quickly peeled, the surface pale yellow and lumpy as I stroked it and wondered if I could really be that dirty.

  Yes, I could, I decided, popping the cob into my mouth and sucking it. I left it in my mouth for a moment, licking at it while my hands went behind me to feel the soft orbs of my bottom. Trembling more strongly than ever, I let a hand sneak down between my cheeks, finding the tight hole of my anus already wet with sweat. My finger went in easily, the feeling making me catch my breath.

  Part of me was yelling not to be so filthy, as I took the cob out of my mouth with my spare hand. I paid no attention, instead sticking my bottom out and preparing the target. The little hole closed as my finger came out. I put the tip of the cob a little way in, relaxed, pushed and then my anus was gaping around the rough surface as it slid up my bottom. There was that wonderful feeling of being entered, and it was more than I could resist not to slide it in and out a few times. The sensation made me pant but I forced myself to stop and stood up, feeling the cob between my thighs, my anus filled just like the girl’s had been, experiencing the same deliciously dirty feeling she must have had. Part of it, at least; for the whole feeling, I needed some extremely fancy equipment and a good-looking young man with a riding whip.

  Still, it was plenty for now and I pulled up my pants and wriggled into my jeans with a feeling of exquisite rudeness. For a moment, I considered returning to the path and continuing my walk to experience the thrill of passing people quite casually while, unknown to them, I had a small maize cob inserted in my anus. My need to come was too strong and as I emerged from the maize I was already looking around for a way into the scrub.

  This wasn’t so easy; a great bank of bramble and thorn barred my way for the whole length of the maize field. I walked up and down, becoming increasingly frustrated — and increasingly turned on by that very frustration and the motion of the cob in my pants. Finally, I decided on a place and forced
my way through, arriving scratched and sweaty in the interior of the wood. The growth was even thicker than in the other wood; a rank tangle of thorn and elder grew low over a carpet of sodden leaves. For a while I had to go along in a crouch, but finally found a place where one of the bigger elders had fallen. It had created a small clearing, carpeted in soft grass and hemmed in on all sides by thick vegetation.

  It was perfect. Not only could I not be seen but, if anybody should approach, I would hear them long before they saw me. The atmosphere was wonderful as well: quiet, secretive, somehow special. It was also pleasantly warm rather than hot, and faintly scented with pine, elder and woodland smells.

  Emboldened by the secrecy of my hiding place, I stood and stretched, then began to strip. As I undressed, I imagined the man I had seen driving the girl watching me, inspecting my body and commenting on it. His expression had been so calm, so arrogant, and I imagined that same look as I lifted my top with mock timidity. My bra followed, the air cool on my breasts as I lifted them in my hands and ran my fingers over the nipples. He’d tell me to do that, of course, instructing me to make a display of myself as he looked on. The girl would be watching too, an amused sneer on her face because it was my turn to be utterly humiliated. She was perfect for my fantasy: tall and blonde with big breasts, the opposite of my own petite figure.

  Naked from the waist up, I undid my belt, popped the button on my jeans and slowly slid the zip down, opening my fly and holding the front of my panties out and down to show my pubic hair. He’d know I was embarrassed about the size of my bum, and he’d want to see me expose it, to add to my shame. I turned to my imaginary onlooker, sticking my bum out and sliding my jeans down ever so slowly. The girl would laugh and remark that I had a fat bottom, even though hers was a good deal fleshier than mine. The jeans fell to my ankles and I was left with just my pants to cover my modesty, and of course to conceal the fact that I had already been thoroughly dirty and put a maize cob up my bottom.