I am not a rich guy so I can't afford a four-wheeler.
I can't afford a transport wench and a house wench like Jackson has either, or that bastard Smith who tells everybody who will listen that he has two transport wenches and two house wenches too.
On work days, my transport wench straps on her leather sandals and her ball-gag, complete with a leather drool-catcher which hangs from two thongs just below her chin, inserts her wooden ponytail butt plug, attaches her reins to her nipple rings and harnesses herself naked between the shafts of my two-wheeler. Then we set off at a trot to travel the seven miles to the office where I work.
Most days, Smith will overtake me in his two-wench, four-wheeler, showing off by grinning at me and cracking his whip as a signal for his big-titted wenches to break into a canter. He only does it to make their pretty tits bounce to make me jealous. Pretentious bastard!
When I get to work, I get out of my cart and my wench trots my two-wheeler the seven miles back to my place so that she can clean and cook and do all of the things a house wench would do if I could afford one. I wish I could afford a wench with bigger tits.
At the end of the day my wench trots the two-wheeler back to the office in time to take me home.
But not today.
Once a year, all transport wenches, and the vehicles they haul, have to go through a rigorous testing procedure to make sure that they are still roadworthy. The D.T.W.C.T.I.C, the Department of Transport Wench and Cart Testing, Inspection and Certification is the government department that carries out the testing.
Today is the day I must renew my wench's, and my two-wheeler's, certificates of roadworthiness and the Testing Station is six miles away in the opposite direction to my office. I had to set off extra early this morning to get there on time. I had to get up extra early too.
It was still dark when my wench woke me by gently sucking on my cock and it was still dark when I came in her mouth and she swallowed. It was still dark when she bathed and dressed me and then cooked and served me my breakfast. The sun was just starting to rise when she crawled under the breakfast table to give me my second blowjob while I ate.
Breakfast was delicious, but from then on my day went downhill.
I usually have three blowjobs before I leave home for work but today there wasn't time for the third.
I left my wench and my two-wheeler at the Testing Station and I had to walk the five hundred yards to the bus depot to catch the bus to work.
Can you believe it, they wouldn't even loan me a saddle wench to carry me to the bus depot?
My wench would be placed on a treadmill, still harnessed to my two-wheeler containing a sack of sand to represent the weight of an average man, and she would have to trot at a steady pace for four hours and if she didn't clock up twenty-five miles in that time she would fail.
My old roadworthiness certificates didn't expire for a couple of days so, win or lose, my wench would still be able to pick me up from work at the end of the day.
At the bus depot I let the First Class bus go. I'm not made of money!
The First Class bus had a big, luxuriously upholstered, leather armchair for each of its ten passengers and was drawn by eight, gorgeous, young, big-titted, big-butted wenches, swishing their tails in a very provocative way, who were so well matched that they could have been identical octuplets, but they weren't going to part me from my hard-earned cash.
I let the Second Class bus go too. It had leather-bound, padded benches for its fifteen passengers. The big tits of the eight poorly-matched wenches pulling it were a little too droopy, and their big butts had a little too much cellulite. Their ponytails, on their heads and sticking out of their butts, looked like they hadn't been shampooed for a week and their drool-catchers were almost full.
The Third Class bus I caught had plain wooden benches for twenty passengers and was drawn by eight third class wenches. They all looked like they were approaching their expiry dates and there had been no attempt at all made to match them. There were tall wenches mixed with short wenches, black wenches mixed with white wenches and plump wenches mixed with skinny wenches.
Their drool-catchers were full and overflowing, all over their tits, and a couple of them had scruffy ponytails in their butts that didn't match the scruffy ponytails on their heads. I could tell by the stubble that their pits and pubes hadn't been shaved for three or four days at least.
There was a long pole sticking out of the front of the bus and it had a crossbar at the end of it. The eight wenches stood behind the crossbar, four on one side and four on the other, grasping it with their hands, their wrists were shackled to it. This was the arrangement on all of the buses and it meant that the driver could see all eight of his wenches' butts and make sure that they all got a fair crack of his whip.
The wenches' left nipple rings were all connected to a length of stiff wire and their right nipple rings to another. The driver's right rein passed through a loop at the right end of the crossbar and was connected to the right nipple ring of the wench on the right and his left rein passed through a loop at the left end of the crossbar and was connected to the left nipple ring of the wench on the left. When the driver pulled on the right rein he pulled on the right nipple of all eight wenches and when he pulled on the left rein he pulled on the left nipple of all eight wenches.
The cheap brass rings had turned the wenches' nipples green.
I sat at the front next to the driver. He cracked his whip and we set off at trot. It was thirteen miles to the bus depot nearest to my office and it took almost two hours to get there, stopping at every stop for passengers to board and alight, and the eight wenches were dripping with sweat and drooling copiously. Most of the drool ended up on their tits.
"Can't you go any faster?" I asked him after the first hour had elapsed and we were only halfway there, "can't you whip their sweaty butts and make them gallop?"
"Got to stick to the timetable, sir," he said, "and galloping ain't allowed. It's too dangerous. If one of these here wenches broke a leg or dropped down dead from exhaustion during a gallop, passengers might be injured, and we couldn't have that, could we, sir?"