Penny In Harness Read online

  He sighed and I let go as he moved back to sit down on the sleepers, his legs apart and his cock sticking up like a flagpole. Typical, I thought; he wants it sucked while all I’ve had is my tits and bum felt. Then, when he’d come in my mouth and I’d swallowed it for him, he’d get bored and I’d have to do without my own fun.

  I was wrong. Instead of making the expected hopeful gesture towards his cock, he took my hand and began to pull me towards him.

  ‘Hey!’ I protested as I felt myself drawn down, not into his arms but over his lap.

  ‘I’d like to spank you, Penny,’ he breathed, pulling me across his knee and wrapping an arm around my waist so that I was held helplessly in place with my bum stuck up in the air. It felt wonderful. I was going to be spanked across his lap, bum up high, little tits dangling bare beneath me and his cock pressed against me to remind me of what I was going to get afterwards.

  ‘What for?’ I squeaked in a deliberately pathetic voice, glad that he wanted to give my bottom some attention before coming.

  ‘Trespassing,’ he said, planting a firm smack on the seat of my jeans. It was hard and made me squeak.

  ‘Peeping,’ he added, giving me a second smack on the fullest part of my bottom and again making me cry out.

  ‘Playing with yourself,’ he continued, the third smack landing where my bum cheeks met my thighs and shoving against my pussy from the rear.

  ‘I suppose you’ll want to take down my trousers, then?’ I asked hopefully, after I had caught my breath.

  ‘I suppose I’ll have to,’ he agreed, his hand already groping at my belt buckle, ‘and your knickers too, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Please, sir, no, not my panties, not on the bare bottom!’ I joked, just to make sure that he knew it was exactly what I wanted him to do.

  He laughed and I relaxed over his lap, lifting my hips obligingly to let him expose my bottom for its spanking. I closed my eyes, relishing the feeling of my jeans being eased down over my bum, the denim tickling my buttocks and then the backs of my thighs as he pulled them well down and arranged them around my knees. He spent a moment caressing my bottom, his hand squeezing my cheeks and stroking the seat of my pants. Then his thumbs were in the waistband and my pants were coming down, filling me with the delicious sense of erotic shame that always comes with being prepared for a spanking. As they slid down over my bum, the air felt cool on my freshly smacked cheeks. I knew my bottom would already be rosy pink and hoped that it would soon be very red indeed.

  He settled my pants around my thighs, far enough down so that I could feel the air on my pussy lips and knew they’d be showing from behind. I braced myself for my spanking, but he had decided to have a good feel before punishing me. First he took hold of my buttocks and pulled them open, redoubling my sense of shame as I knew he’d be examining my bottom hole. He made a leisurely inspection, treating me with outrageous intimacy, considering that we’d only just met. I was too turned on to care, instead shivering as his finger tips traced a slow line between the cheeks of my bum. He was obviously either unaware or indifferent to the liberties he was taking with me. I felt a finger touch my anus, then invade it, working slowly up my bottom.

  ‘Hey!’ I protested half-heartedly, torn between telling him not to be so rude and asking to have his finger replaced with his cock once he’d given me a good spanking.

  That was what he had been waiting for. His finger was pulled sharply out of my bum and, the next instant, a heavy smack landed across my bare cheeks. The arm around my waist locked tight as the second smack fell. These were hard, knocking the breath out of me and making me squeal. A third fell and then he set to work, spanking me in earnest. In a moment my bottom was on fire and I was kicking and wriggling over his knee. It went on for ages, and I was soon indifferent to the display I was making of myself but concerned only for the pain in my bottom and the fact that I was helpless and being thoroughly beaten.

  Finally he stopped, leaving me sobbing and limp over his knee. My bottom was a ball of fire, bare, stuck high in the air and throbbing with pain. I was breathing heavily, well and truly spanked and so turned on that I knew a few deft touches to my clit would be all that was needed to bring me to orgasm.

  He lifted me and turned, setting me gently down where he had been sitting. The concrete of the sleeper felt hard against my smarting bottom. He stood in front of me, his cock sticking up, inches in front of my face. I grabbed it and began to suck, my mouth filling with the salty male taste as I opened my legs and my free hand found my pussy, delving between the lips for my clit. I was swollen and wet, on the very edge of orgasm, tugging frantically at his cock in an effort to get a mouthful of sperm at the exact instant I hit my peak. I was rubbing hard at my clit, wishing his cock could be in my mouth, my pussy and up my bum at the same time. My mind went to the way he’d spanked me: hard, bare-bottomed, over his knee with my pussy and bum-hole showing. That was too much for me and suddenly I was coming.

  It was a moment too early. I felt my muscles contract as I went into orgasm, my thighs closing and locking around my hand. I sucked hard on the ridged pole of flesh in my mouth as I came, only to have him take me gently by the hair and pull half-way out and begin to masturbate furiously into my mouth as my orgasm subsided. I managed a muffled squeak and then his cock started to spasm and my mouth was filling with his come.

  He groaned, pushing his cock well in and holding it there until he was finished. I swallowed, but too late, his last thrust forced a good measure of sperm out around his cock to dribble down my chin and splash on my blouse.

  He was apologising even as he took his cock out of my mouth, then asked me if he had spanked me too hard.

  ‘Slow down,’ I managed, trying to get my breath back. ‘It was fine, don’t worry.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ he insisted, showing that sudden post-coital concern that is so common in men who like to dominate when they have sex.

  ‘Fine, really,’ I assured him. ‘Lovely, in fact. I’ve never been spanked so hard. You’re really strong.’

  I stood up and rubbed at my bottom, unable to avoid a grimace at the soreness now that I’d had my orgasm. It would be sore for a week, but that was well worth it.

  ‘You’ve been spanked before, then?’ he asked, sounding slightly disappointed.

  ‘A few times,’ I admitted, turning to show him my red bum. ‘I like it, but a lot of men won’t do it. I can see even you feel a bit guilty.’

  ‘Yeah,’ he admitted. ‘Thanks, anyway; that was great. Your poor bottom!’

  I shrugged and smiled, starting to tidy myself up as he made the last rearrangements to his clothing. Now that the heat of passion was past, he seemed shyer and less certain of himself, as if he couldn’t quite accept that what had happened had been what I wanted as well. Nothing was said for a period, while I did my best to make myself look presentable.

  ‘So can I see you again?’ he finally asked.

  ‘Sure; I’m going to be your pony-girl, aren’t I?’ I replied.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘if you’re sure you want to be.’

  ‘Come on,’ I laughed. ‘I drove all the way out here, took the trouble to find your farm, embarrassed myself in front of your brother and shared the most wonderful sex with you. Of course I want to be a pony-girl.’

  ‘Great,’ he said, looking as if he couldn’t believe his luck. ‘Arthur doesn’t know about Michael and Ginny. It’s all a bit delicate. He’s a lot older than Ginny and I, and a bit straight-laced. It’s actually Ginny who owns the park where they go. Dad left it to her and the farm to Arthur and me. Would you like to meet there, next weekend?’

  I readily agreed and we walked back as far as the footpath together, chatting with an intimacy that would normally take weeks to build up but which seemed completely natural.

  Three

  I spent the whole of the following week with butterflies in my stomach. It was like being a teenager again; waiting for Saturday night after making an important date. Also reminiscent o
f my teenage years was the worry over what I should wear when Saturday morning finally arrived. Unlike teenage dates, though, I was definitely going to end up undressing. From the point of view of practicality, a short dress with neither bra nor knickers underneath would have been best. It didn’t give me enough opportunity to show off, though, and I ended up in lacy black underwear with a light summer skirt and a cotton blouse.

  Outside, the day was warm and sultry, even at nine o’clock in the morning, so I stopped at a service station and stocked up on water and sun cream. The drive to Wiltshire seemed to take twice as long as normal, but I eventually found myself at the turning I needed. — said a large sign, followed by some information about public access. I drove through, presently reaching the first gate.

  As I shut it behind me, I felt a strengthening of the sense of detachment that had been building ever since I had left the service station. Ahead, the ground rose in a broad sweep of grass, parched by the sun to a dun colour. Beyond that the tops of trees were visible, trees that stood in the Linslade’s park. I drove on and, a few minutes later, I was pulling up in front of the gates I had climbed only two short weeks before. They were padlocked, as before.

  I stopped the car and got out. There was no sign that anybody else had been there, but with the ground packed hard after two weeks without rain, it was hard to tell. On the far side of the gate was an envelope pinned to a stake. By peering through the bars, I could just make out the word ‘Penny’ written on it. I was about to climb the gate when I realised that the padlock might not actually be holding the gate shut. It wasn’t, allowing me to unwrap the chain and drive through. Once parked on the inside, I took the envelope, wondering why Matthew hadn’t simply met me at the gate. Inside was a padlock key and a lengthy note.

  ‘Dear Penny,’— it began. ‘Please lock the gate behind you. If you want to drive in and meet me at the stable yard, that’s fine. I would prefer you to follow the instructions underneath.’

  I glanced quickly down the page to see what was expected of me. The idea seemed to be to get the most out of the fantasy and I decided to play along. The first instruction was simple: strip.

  The idea certainly worked; even while I was locking the gate properly I was beginning to feel the exciting combination of apprehension and urgency produced by undressing where I might be seen. Once the gate was shut, I stood by my car for a while, listening to the sounds of the wood and wondering if Matthew was watching me from some concealed place. It seemed likely. In fact, I was sure I’d seen a movement among the dense rhododendron bushes that lined the drive. For a moment, I considered undressing in the old lodge, thus depriving him of the pleasure of watching and probably earning me a spanking.

  As it seemed unlikely that I would get to the end of the day without a smacked bottom anyway, I decided to pretend innocence instead and began to undress with exaggerated shyness. I took my skirt off first, undoing the buttons and stepping out of it hurriedly as if being seen stripping were more embarrassing than being seen stripped. I knew this left my black knickers showing under the tail of my blouse, and so made a big deal of folding the skirt and putting it in the car, taking care to bend right over as I did so, with my bum stuck out towards the place I thought he was most likely to be. I stayed in position while I took off my shoes, imagining his eyes feasting on the scrap of black lace that was all that covered my bottom. My blouse followed, each button undone gingerly, then pulled open and quickly shrugged off to join my skirt. I went to check that nobody was visible through the gate before taking off my bra, part for show and part just in case some farm-hand or walker was about to get an eyeful of my breasts.

  They weren’t, so I unsnipped the catch and held the cups on for a moment before dropping them to bare my titties to the wood and, hopefully, to Matthew Linslade. I resisted the temptation to play with my nipples as it would have completely destroyed any pretence of shyness. Instead, I put the bra with my other clothes and hooked my thumbs into the waistband of my panties, turning my back to where I thought Matthew was, easing them slowly down my legs and kicking them off to stand naked in the sunlight. The sun felt hot on my bare skin and I realised that not only was a good coating of sunblock necessary, but putting it on would give me more opportunity to show off to Matthew.

  I spent a good ten minutes creaming myself, concentrating on my breasts and bum for his benefit but making sure I got a good even coating as well. By the time I was finished, I was thoroughly turned on, with my nipples sticking out and glistening with cream while my pussy felt wet and ready. I locked the car and hid the key, then took the note and strode boldly down the drive, stark naked and ready to become a pony-girl.

  When I was some way past the clump of rhododendrons in which I suspected Matthew to be concealed, I heard a rustle behind me, confirming my suspicions. I smiled to myself and wondered how long he’d be able to hold out before having full sex with me. The next instruction in the note told me to walk down the drive until I found a table and put on whatever had been laid out for me. Given that Ginny Scott had been nude except for her boots and harness, I wasn’t quite sure what to expect. Certainly a harness — the very idea of which sent a new thrill through me — but possibly also a few touches to suit whatever Matthew’s own preferences were.

  The table stood in the curve of the drive, a small trestle set with complicated-looking pieces of black leather, plenty of yellow ribbons and a pair of boots like the ones I had seen Ginny Scott wearing. I studied the pieces in an effort to work out how to put them on, aware that I was being watched and not wanting to make a fool of myself. The note gave instructions but, as I didn’t understand the terminology these were less than helpful.

  The bridle at least was fairly obvious, a leather bit running between two brass rings with several straps and buckles attached. I picked it up, trying to remember how Ginny Scott had worn hers. I wondered if it was actually her harness. It was clean but looked worn and obviously wasn’t new. She was a lot taller than me and more curvy, making me wonder if it would fit. If they were her things, then the only item obviously missing was the tail, which set me to thinking how sweet it had looked, waving behind her as she trotted.

  At that moment, there was a sound behind me and I turned, expecting to find Matthew. Instead there was the person I had been thinking about a moment before, Ginny Scott. My first reaction was annoyance that Matthew had told his sister what we were planning to do; I hastily covered my breasts and opened my mouth to say something.

  Even as I started to speak, it occurred to me that I was being completely unfair. I had been peeping at her, and Matthew must have told her about it. He’d probably also told her that he’d spanked me for it, which turned my anger into embarrassment and I found myself blushing furiously. She smiled and held out her hand in greeting. I took it, only to be drawn forward and kissed.

  ‘Hi,’ she said, stepping back again. ‘I’m Ginny Scott.’

  ‘Penny Birch,’ I responded, still unsure how to take her or why she was there. ‘I was expecting Matthew.’

  ‘He’ll be along soon enough,’ she answered, still smiling as she went to the table and picked up the largest piece of leather. ‘I volunteered to help you with the tack.’

  ‘Thanks, I… er…’ I began, unsure how I felt about being done up as a pony-girl by another woman, even one I knew was into it herself. It would have been easier if she’d been in the nude too, or in a riding outfitor something, but she was dressed in cream slacks and a loose blouse which made her look completely mundane.

  ‘Don’t be shy,’ she said brightly. ‘After all, you’ve seen me in harness, haven’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ I admitted.

  ‘And with my tail in,’ she continued.

  ‘Yes,’ I said, accepting the situation. After all, she was obviously quite at home joining in and it seemed prissy to object; especially when I was the one in the nude. I wondered just how much she knew. She and her brother were obviously close enough to share the secrets of her and her husban
d’s sexual preferences, and I’d told Matthew everything, even how I’d masturbated after seeing Ginny and Michael. I found myself blushing again at the thought but realised that the reason she was so at ease was probably that she was as bad as I was.

  ‘I’m sorry there’s no tail for you,’ she remarked, adjusting a set of brass pins and eyelets with a glance at my waist. ‘They take about a month to order and we’d need to match your hair, anyway. What’s your waist, about twenty-four?’

  ‘Twenty-two,’ I answered as she came towards me with the belt.

  ‘This goes down to eighteen; I’ll see if I can pull you in that far,’ she said, wrapping the thick belt around me and slotting together another set of eyelets and pegs.

  ‘Breathe in,’ she ordered and tugged the lacing at the back of the belt closed, constricting my waist. ‘Do you normally undress like that, by the way?’

  ‘No!’ I protested. ‘I thought it was Matthew watching.’

  ‘It was me,’ she answered, sounding thoroughly pleased with herself. ‘So we’re even, now. I liked the bit with the sun cream; he’ll be sorry to have missed that.’

  I was too embarrassed to reply, but stood quietly while she tied the laces and stepped back to admire her handiwork.

  ‘There we are: eighteen inches,’ she said. ‘Lucky thing. You’re in harness now, so no talking. We do have what we call a safety word, though. If things are getting a bit much say ‘‘Amber’’ and Matthew’ll ease off; say ‘‘Red’’ and he’ll stop immediately and take you out of harness. OK?’

  ‘Got it,’ I replied.

  ‘I said, no talking,’ she snapped in mock annoyance and gave me a gentle but familiar smack on my bottom.

  ‘Whoever heard of a talking pony?’

  I shut up and stood obediently while she fixed the harness on to me. The main piece consisted of the waist belt and straps that went over my shoulders to a brass ring, just below my breasts. A thin black rope hung from this, which I vaguely remembered as attaching to eyes on the ends of the cart’s shafts. Wrist-cuffs