Saddleworth to Cannes
A Sequel to A Particularly Easy Pony to Please.
or Training Rose part 5
We all agreed I needed to train intensively for the Grand Prix at Cannes, but maybe my idea of intensive training, eight hours a day spent actually training, say seven until twelve, with a coffee break around ten and hour and a bit for lunch and and then train till four thirty and then relax maybe see a movie before getting tacked up again and sleeping in a Pony stall at Melton Villa, that and rationing my sex and not riding my motorbike, seemed fair enough to me but no Daddy thought this was unrealistic, especially when some girls had literally been bred for Pony Girl competition.
I should have realised Daddy and Tom had other ideas, but I missed the signs, "Gerald," Tom said to Daddy one morning after Tom gave me my emema, and when I was waiting for my arm clincher and gag to be removed so I could eat breakfast.
Tom had actually called Daddy Gerald, Daddy only ever let his closest friends call him Gerald, Major General McNaughton was his usual favourite form of address, Lord Melton, his least favoured.
"Gerald, ah Sir, I've been studying the films you sent over and."
"And what?" Daddy asked in irritation.
"It's Roses posture," he said, "Round shouldered." he said.
"Well make her do press ups man!" Father exclaimed in exasperation.
"Her head is too far forward sir." he said, "For a Pony," he squirmed suspecting he had incurred Daddy's extreme displeasure.
"I know Tom, she looks lovely in a ball gown but," he said, "You've only got ten days before Cannes,"
"Dot, said about a posture hook," Tom suggested. Dot, Dorothy Channing, was Daddy's head groom, and a Posture hook was gross.
"She can't wear a Posture Hook!" Daddy exclaimed.
"Not here sir, no, but Henry Bryant will have her at Saddleworth for a reasonable fee. just for week if we like,to toughen her up sir."
"It will need some organising," Father suggested.
"I'll run her up there sir," Tom suggested, "In think we should make her train overnight and so maybe a mild sedative."
"You are not, repeat not using my Bentley." Daddy insisted.
"No sir, I thought perhaps the VW Golf?" he suggested.
"That's Georgina's, oh why not, there's hardly a panel that hasn't been repaired." Daddy said dismissively.
I stamped my foot angrily, he made it sound like I was a careless driver, but I was a very good driver, my instructor at the Silverstone Track day said he never saw anyone try the Complex flat in fifth before, or use the handbrake as much as I did, I was just unlucky.
"You know Tom, I could never have suggested a Posture hook in a million years, you have a great future as a trainer Tom." Daddy said.
And no future at all as my boyfriend I decided, although just then, cold and wet from my al fresco enema, and bound and helpless I wouldn't have cared who wanted to be my lover as long as they had seven inches of solid warm muscle.
I had a dozen good reasons why it was a stupid idea but with my bit- gag in I was in no position to explain, so when they went to take me to the tack room I simply refused to move.
"Rose, walk on," Daddy insisted, I stamped my foot angrily.
"She's all yours," Daddy said as he stood aside and handed Tom a whip, I stared at Tom, he wouldn't dare, but he did, left and then right across my buttocks on the diagonal, ouch! it hurt, and he kept going, I decided this wasn't the best time for a show down, I'd just wait till he wanted sex!
I followed Tom to the tack room, the Posture hooks were not used often, part of it, we called it the hair wrap, was like an overgrown hair curler, with nobbles which the "victim's" hair could be wrapped around and held secure, the other end was a hook in stainless steel, at least ours were, some were simple stove enamelled iron, Yuck. Both had loops on and were connected by a thick leather strap with a buckle and lots of adjustment holes that went up your back and they also had an adjustable screw fitting for "fine tuning," so that when it was tightened you had to keep your chin up and back arched, or it threatened to rip your hair out or tear your bottom.
Oh yes, the hook goes up your bottom, and a very long way, it is thoroughly unpleasant to say the least and of course you can't wear clothes with it, or sit down, or see your feet, Arrggghhh!
I stamped with frustration, but Dot appeared very quickly, "Fancy you with a posture hook Miss Georgina, I must get a photo!" she chortled, "I'll use that new carbon fibre one in gold to match your hair," she suggested, she meant the wrap not the hook.
Oh if only I could have spoken, or freed my arms or even kicked her! but I couldn't, and I just had to stand there as she started to braid my long blonde hair around the hair wrap, damn it my hair needed a wash and shampoo not be tortured in a posture hook hair wrap.
Dot did her usual neat job binding my hair securely into the wrap and then she sealed it in place with what felt like gallons of hair lacquer.
"Now we'll just try the hook and then you can have your breakfast," Dot suggested, "bend over!"
I tried to resist but Tom actually swatted me under my breasts, the sod, I hated him, how dare he, and before I knew I was bending over the bench.
He held my shoulders as Dot manipulated the hook, it was nasty and cold and covered with slimy lube,and there was no way Dot was going to get that horrible thing into my bottom, no way in the world.
It went in with a horrible cold feeling deep oh so deep inside, I shook and shuddered and tried to get away, but it was hopeless and then they made me stand upright, I stamped and shook my head but still they insisted and now Tom knew exactly where to swat me under my breast, I jumped up and Dot just hooked one end of the strap through the loop in the end of the hook and the other end to the hair wrap and started to pull it tight.
It was horrible, absolutely vile, I thought they would tear my hair out or split my bottom, "You pull it tight like this first Tom" Dot was saying, "See pull it good and tight, you want the ass hole about half an inch open ideally," she was saying as I arched my back and stared at the ceiling and planned how I could slowly kill the pair of them.
"That's it," she said, "Tighten the buckle and" she continued, "slip the tool off and then tighten it on the screw, Ok?"
Tom agreed, the bastard, so I stood there, head well back, breasts thrust out looking completely ridiculous, "Let's get her used to it," he said.
"Look at her Tom, suddenly she's got breasts!" Dot exclaimed, "Now hitch her to the cart and tke her for a run but be careful she wont be able to see thing so drive very carefully, accurately," Dot insisted.
Personally I wanted my breakfast, but no they fitted the waist belt and shoulder straps and all the rest of the cart harness and led me out to the cart shed, I would have run away if only I could have seen where to go, all I could see was sky and if I tried to look down I either nearly scalped myself ripped my bottom open or both.
They hitched up the cart and Tom ordered "Walk on," so I did, "Giddy up" he said soI lunged forward, his weight went back the shafts came up and we slithered to a halt with me about thee feet in the air and him on the ground still in the seat looking up at me. I could see him reflected on the Tack room window,
"I suppose you think that's funny," Dot exclaimed.
Actually I did.
"You got to watch that one, her acceleration," Dot said seriously, "keep your weight forward and you'll be fine," then she simply grabbed the shafts and pulled me down and Tom up, so I could continue.
I trotted around the grounds for about half an hour pretty aimlessly but as I never actually ran into a tree or into the lake I came to realise that maybe Tom knew a little about driving, and then it was breakfast time, and the miserable sods put me a bucket of Museli and a bowl of orange juice, in a stall, popped my gag bit out and then rushed out of the way before I could complain.
You can't eat from a bucket with your hands bound behind you and a posture hook holding your head back, I tried very hard but it's impossible, believe me.
Dot relented in the end, and undid the strap on the posture hook, so at least I could bend, and although it was hardly an elegant way to eat I had soon scooped every last scrap from that bucked and drained the orange juice bowl as well, I was so hungry, and that's when I realised they had spiked my orange juice, with a sedative or sleeping draft.
I remember bits of the trip to Yorkshire, actually it was a good thing I was drowsy because Tom is an appalling driver, and my poor little car, she was being overtaken all the time she must have been humiliated, I hated being overtaken, ugggh!
They must have dressed me for the trip and then got me tacked up before I woke because I was tacked up when I came round in the early evening, posture hook everything, except there was a new leather arm clincher of a new style I hadn't seen before.
"Hey up lass, long time no see," Henry Bryant greeted me,"Oh bloody hell where yer clit ring gone?" he asked. "Oi, Warrinder, where's her bloody clit ring,"
"Ah she decided," he said.
"Yer soft southern lump she don't bloody decide she's a bloody Pony you wazzock." Henry observed pleasantly.
"Look Georgina is my girl friend as well," he said.
"Bloody hell, you screw yer pony, up the ass, up the cunt any bloody which way up but you do not, repeat not fall in love with em, do you understand!" he raged.
"Yes Henry, good advice but you never stuck to it did you?" Martha said as she emerged from the shadows, "I was West Yorkshire Dressage champion two years running, Aileen, Ellie they used to call me, sort of put it behind me now so I calls myself Martha, like Mother ent it, " she said, "Any road this un couldn't afford to pay me prize money so he says lets get wed, and here I am!"
"Look Warrinder you might just as well bugger off down south again and come back when we're done."
"I suppose," he said, "I suppose she's in good hands." and that's the last I saw of him for a week.
Henry on the other hand set about fitting me with a clit ring again, he never bothered to freeze it He just banged a gold rod through with the tool circled it round nd soldered it with some hi tech
cordless solder gun and it hurt like hell,
"Got a comforter Martha, I reckon a three," Henry announced.
