Close your eye orbs, and focus your thoughts. Imagine, if you will, the most insurmountable, impossible thing in the universe. What did you picture? Climbing Mount Everest? Curing cancer? A Star Trek film without the word "remodulate" in the script? Having two lesbians realize that they're in love and not just really close friends who practice kissing sometimes? Whatever it is that you are imagining, surely, you can begin to picture ways to get around it.
Ice picks and those climbing people who live in the mountain place (I want to say...Sherpas? Is it Sherpas? Normally, I'd
this, but I don't have Google.) Some kind of massive science lab, with beakers and shit and maybe a very smart sexy blond scientist who you can fall in love with so the audience doesn't get bored with curing cancer. Locking the two lesbians in a room with a box of chocolates. Defenestrating Rick Berman.
And yet here I was, facing a task that was significantly less impossible than any of those, and I could see no path forward, nothing to do but to stand there and look like an idiot as I looked at my horse, which was standing placidly, occasionally robo-twitching its robo-tail and robo-flicking its robo-ear.
"Do you need help?" Ra murmured behind me.
"I know how to horse get!" I hissed, blushing as I looked at Ra, then glanced over at the others. Lord Thompson and Sir Starfellow had both arrived with their James -- and no, neither had nicknames, or did they seem particularly enthused to be here. They stood at a distance and watched as their masters swung up onto their horses, while Amelia chatted with my Mary.
"And you left your Maria behind?" Mary asked.
"Well, uh...actually..." Amelia coughed. "I...am somewhat betwixt and between, when it comes to Marias."
"Oh...did yours, um..." Mary paused, wringing her hands a bit. "Leave?"
"Oh, no, no, no! She's just...indisposed...chassies damage, you know?" Amelia asked, which produced a blank look from Mary. "...there was a bit of concentrated biological acid, sprayed from the mouth of a slavering starbeast, you see..." Amelia said.
"Are you sure you don't need help?" Ra whispered to me.
"I can
do
it!" I said, blushing.
"It's the butt plug, isn't it?" Ra's voice was very soft. My cheeks burned brightly and I grumbled under my breath.
"Stupid...sexy Georgette..." I put my hands on the saddle and began to swing myself slooowly up, hissing and gasping as I felt my anus clench on the plug. Pleasure rocked along my spine and went right into my brain like a laser lance and my cock strained, trying to get hard, pressing against the soft interior of my chastity cage and I was
so
close to crying, you cannot even believe it. I somehow managed to keep from mewling or crying out or collapsing into a gibbering mess atop my hunting horse -- but once I was there, I found there were new issues.
I was in my dress, but I had been shown how to ride saddleshare -- or as I called it, how to ride
BITCHES STYLE
.
It had to be in all caps, and bold. Well, you know what happens when you push your thighs together and clench your butt while sitting on a saddle, and also, you're wearing a chastity cage around your girldick and you have a faintly buzzing vibrating sex toy in your ass? Well, uh, it means that every tiny movement of your robo-horse, from its simulated robo-breathing, to the faint robo-shifting of its robo-gyroscopes to keep it robo-balance...all...made...
Good.
Feels.
But too much good feels, as they ancient saying went, make Lucy into a gibbering whimpery mess of absolute disasterousness. I mean, like, more than I already was?
Amelia drew her horse to my left, while Lord Thompson drew his horse to my right, and Mary rode up on her horse, which was just a two wheeler, as opposed to my equine reconstruction. Mary waved at me. "Hello Mistress!" she said, her voice gay and excited and cheerful and happy and gay. I smiled at her, thinly, while Lord Thompson chuckled, softly.
"You do look quite a bit more comfortable sitting that way than before," he said, genially. See, that was one nice thing about this universe. Yes, Lord Thompson was prolly evil and most likely had killed someone, and maybe had nefarious plans for the future of the universe. But he was still a pretty solid cis ally? Like, he wasn't about to deadname me or trigger any transphobia in my brain, and he could still be evil as shit. Weird, huh? What a world!
Man, if there was a fourth wall, I'd be looking
right
out it, directly at some cis authors I remembered from back on Earth. Either that, or my brain was shorting out from the pressure of keeping a straight face and nodding while Thompson spoke and...my butt plug started to buzz. It wasn't very much, just a tiny
whirr
, but that translated into the mental equivalent of mashing my face into the keyboard during a Discord chat.
"Thanks," I said, nodding. "S-So, uh...does everyone have, ah...is everyone ready? Amry, uh, the hounds? Good?" I nodded again as I saw Mary waving and holding up the small remote control device for operating the hounds. I coughed, sat up, then smiled. "...I've wanted to say this my whole...afternoon!" I blushed, hastily correcting to try and sound like this wasn't my first time saying this.
But.
Still.
I got a fierce, buzzing
thrill
, running along my body as I said: "Release the hounds!"
The fox hunt, I was told, was an ancient tradition, and involved hunting foxes. Remarkable revelation, that! But since modern Britons -- and people of all cultures, actually, save for some recreationists back on Earth -- thought that eating meat that came from actual animals was barbaric, and that riding horses that were actually horses was barbaric, and were pretty down on the term 'barbaric', too, it was kind of seen as racially pejorative...so...like, it was...
Okay, they were kinda against the term 'uncivilized' too, Georgette had pointed out that the Settler Americans called the Native Americans 'uncivilized', but the Native Americans had, like, democracy and shit back when we were still going thee thou thy that and off with the head King bullshit.
So, when asked, Georgette had simply sniffed and declared:
It is simply Not Done.
And that is the biggest, most condemnatory thing one could throw at the olden style of fox hunting. Not. Done. Fortunately, the Industrious Revolution had allowed society to progress beyond the needs of actual red foxes and actual dogs and actual horses and brought into them mechanical simulacra that let you have all the fun of a fox hunt, with none of the actually hurting anyone but yourself if you fell off your horse!
Technology, used rationally for the betterment of mankind? What was this, a reasonably good episode of Star Trek?!
With the order given, Mary touched her control wand and the fox-drones were released from their cages. They looked exactly like foxes, if foxes glowed faintly and were semi-transparent projections around tiny repulsor-lift drones. And then as they shot off towards the wood, their tiny paws scampering, their feet leaping out as they sprang into the air and arced elegantly into the brush, the other drones were released. These were bigger and projected holographic hounds that started to bark and woof and charge after the foxes.
