Three couples stood outside of the stables as the last of the corporate sponsors were ushered out of the area. The horse races were long over, it was nearly midnight, and despite the festival atmosphere the stable guests were reminded that the horses needed to rest. You can always come back tomorrow, the crowds were reminded. Except for the six people standing in the murky dark at the far end of the stables.
The sultry summer air was thick with the smell of the barns, a scent of earth and the cloying, musty-sweet smell of horses. An occasional whinny was carried on the gentle evening breeze, and as the six people stood at the only stable door that remained open a casual observer would have detected a nervous air about them. They were the biggest sponsors, the owner of an oil company, his wife, and their guests. It was obvious from the cut of their clothes and the jewelry worn by the women that they were no stable hands, and they seemed out of place among the piles of hay bales and saddles that lay strewn around the barns.
A tall man in jeans and a red shirt walked up to them, his tanned face ruggedly handsome, his slate gray eyes missing no detail as he came to a halt before the anxious group. He glanced over his shoulder, ensuring the last of the guests had left the stables and the gates were locked before he turned to speak.
"We're almost ready, so if you'd like to come into the barn we can get started." His words sent a ripple of excitement through his small audience, and they followed him into the stable. Once the six had entered the building the man paused to slide the heavy wooden door closed on it's track, and he locked it shut with a heavy padlock.
It was a typical stable they were in, made up of a wide hallway lined with ten stalls per side. The stalls were twelve by twelve feet in size and all had heavy sliding gates made of iron bars. A wooden half wall on the right side of each gate allowed the horses to peer out into the hallway, and the group followed the man in the red shirt to the far end of the stable. The stalls were all full and a handful of the horses had their massive heads poking out into the hallway, sensing the anticipation of the group as they walked to the end of the barn and the only empty stall. The sound of a hoof pawing the bedding in one of the stalls reverberated through the barn in a series of dull thuds, and at the opposite end of the hallway one of the horses looked down the length of the barn, shaking its head and whinnying insistently.
The group gathered in front of the empty stall, which was lit by a single light bulb in the ceiling. The dim light spilled out into the hallway and cast shadows into the corners of the stall, and as the six looked into the cubicle they saw that it differed slightly from the rest. It was cleaner, only slightly so, the walls still covered with the dust of the barns, but the floor had been covered with a fresh layer of sawdust. There were leather reins hanging from the walls inside, along with a collection of crops and polished stainless steel bits and clips that glinted faintly in the warm, light. Along the back wall of the cubical was a low padded bench, and beside it a galvanized metal bucket.
"Now, there are a couple of rules you all need to follow," the man said, standing between the group and the stall, his hands on his hips. "First of all, you are free to talk among yourselves, and once we begin you can do anything you feel you would like to do, but it must be here in the hallway." He looked at them, unsmiling, before continuing. "You are not to enter the stall under any circumstances. And you are not to speak to or touch anyone but the others in your group. No one speaks to or touches either the filly or the stud. These rules are firm, and if you break these rules the evening is over. Is that clear?"
All six in the group nodded in silent obedience. The man knew that they had gone to great lengths and great expense to arrange this evening, and he was confident they would follow his directions to the letter. He did one final check of the stall to ensure all was in place before walking to a small intercom box bolted to the stable wall.
"Bring her in," he said into the box, and he opened a smaller door beside the larger one he had locked earlier.
After a few long minutes of nervous silence the group could hear the sound of footsteps outside the door. A female trainer, dressed in snug black riding pants and a red blouse, stepped into the stable. She held a thick leather lead in her hand, and the group released a collective gasp as the filly was led into the barn.
She was a magnificent creature, her mane of chestnut hair falling past her bare shoulders in shimmering, silky waves. She had been immaculately groomed, they saw, and her body rippled as she took slow, deliberate steps into the stable. Her eyes were big and dark and she ignored the group with a regal sense of indifference as she was led to the door of the stall. The men and women of the group had known what was coming but none of them could fully grasp that it was real. Her pretty face showed the barest of makeup, only some liner and shadow to bring out her eyes and a deep red color on her lush lips. The filly had been toned by workouts but retained a strikingly voluptuous figure, her bare breasts swaying gently as she walked at the end of the lead, which was fastened around to a wide leather collar around her neck. Her tanned skin was flawless and looked as soft as satin, and her tight waist gave way to full, fertile hips. As she was led into the stall they could see the fullness of her high rump, which held an exaggerated heart shape before tapering to shapely, strong thighs. She wore nothing but a pair of black leather boots that reached her mid thigh, the four inch stiletto heels clicking on the concrete of the barn floor until meeting the sawdust in the stall.
The trainer snapped the end of the filly's lead to a gleaming metal O ring that was attached to a leather strap, then removed the lead from the front of the filly's collar and reattached it to a clip on the back of her neck. The strap was looped over a pulley in the stall's ceiling, and the trainer tugged on it. The pulley creaked quietly as lead lifted up, and she tied the strap to a hook at the side of the stall, effectively securing the filly to the middle of the stall while leaving her a little slack for movement. The trainer stroked her hand over the filly's mane, whispering something to her that brought the faintest of smiles to the creature's lips before kissing her forehead gently and exiting the stall.
"She's beautiful," one of the women in the group said to the man in the red shirt, her eyes darting over the filly's curves.
"She's the best we have," the man replied with a nod. "We have had a hard time breaking her - she's still got a wild streak in her - but I'm sure you'll agree that isn't necessarily a bad thing."
His comment elicited a quite laugh from the group as the filly simply stood in the middle of her stall, staring at the group without reaction to their words. She shifted from one foot to the other slowly, bending her knees one at a time to shift her weight. She exuded a nervous energy, one that made her seem like she could bolt at any moment. The leather lead, it was obvious, was a good idea. The man in the red shirt glanced at the trainer.
