Madeleine (19 page)

You saw them feeling up the women’s arses,” he continued, “that’s to see if there was any foam padding up there to cushion the drive.
Very risky trick actually because even if you can get it far enough up to escape probing fingers, they’re to be ‘figged’ for this race, and it would mean disqualification if they shat out a length of polyurethane half way round the track.
That caustic they get turns their sphincters inside out, and anything inside is soon outside.

But back to the present.
As you can see, she’s all opened up below, and cut off from contact above.
The scrutineer is going to touch the hot iron onto the back wall of her again in a totally random fashion.
His colleague has his hand on her belly and, if she’s ‘clean’ he’ll feel the involuntary spasm as she burns.
If not they’ll know there’s been some monkey business.”

Listening, Madeleine thought, Sweet Heaven, not only do I get my cunt battered to a pulp, but it’s going to be burnt first.
The part in question twitched nervously.

Six times, at random intervals, the woman’s belly jumped, and finally she was given the all clear, and allowed to rise.
Now it was her turn, and Madeleine’s stomach lurched as Bob gave a little tug on her reins to indicate she should take up the position just vacated.
The bench felt warm from the woman’s body, no doubt she had sweated with fear just as Madeleine was doing now, but the air was all too chill on her vulva as she lifted her legs, bending her knees to spread her thighs and lodge her feet in the stirrups, reminding her of her openness and vulnerability.
The speculum, expanding hugely inside her vagina, was warm from the previous cunt in which it had lodged, but not as warm as the fire that suddenly ignited in her own.
Six times she spasmed, as the point, hot enough to melt lead, was laid on the tender membrane that lined her tunnel and then, blessedly, it was over and she was on her feet again, her vagina still signalling distress, but the Scrutineers satisfied she had not been got at.

Mares, drivers, Stewards, Scrutineers and all, the little group moved out of the stable, to where the buggies waited by the track.
Before the thongs were secured and arms put into their restraints, there was one more small formality.
The Polish woman went first, as usual, placing her feet well apart and bending from the waist to touch her toes while a Steward gathered up a large sticky brown mass of caustic and thumbed it between the massive cheeks into the anus, past the sphincter, adding generously from the tray at his side, until she was well stuffed, Madeleine could assess the power of this strong and experienced opponent she was up against.
Her great oiled buttocks sat atop the solid columns of the thighs.
Seen like this, she seemed as large and powerful as any mare, and who could doubt her courage.
Hadn’t she beaten all comers at this demanding sport for a year, and didn’t she have incentive enough, with the survival of her most intimate woman’s part at stake?
This was going to be an epic battle.

As the woman danced on her toes from the effect of the potent ‘fig’ in her fundament, Madeleine bent in her turn, and received the familiar burning caustic baptism of her anus, though it seemed an even stronger prescription today, and certainly the steward stuffed her fuller than she’d ever known.
This was going to burn for the full six laps.

Their thongs were drawn back tight to their waist bands, canting up their chins, and their arms secured in the buckled leather sleeves behind their backs.
Before the women were allowed to mount, the Stewards inspected the shining metal stems of their impalement for analgesic substances, wiping them with a cloth soaked in surgical spirit to make doubly sure.

The Polish woman mounted first, swinging her leg easily over the pole, and settling with an audible ‘schluck’ onto the rampant stem of the horn, the easy passage of the ball up her gaping cunt testifying to the truth of Morgan’s assertion of her constant sexual arousal.
Well she wasn’t exa
ctly dry herself, thought Madele
ine, watching, and swung her own shapely thigh over the pole and nudged the ball between her labia.
She had forgotten the spiritous bath it had so recently, and hissed at the sudden sting in the tender membranes at the mouth of her vagina, but bent her knees and sent the cold lump of metal deep into her belly.

Sitting on her vulva, she watched the Stewards adjust the fork to her rival’s breasts, great firm udders which swung as she moved, but didn’t sag, crowned with teats like thumbs, rock hard it seemed, and dark red.
Even the hardened owner of this exuberant pair flinched as the clamps were applied and tightened. The Stewards had no intention of the race being aborted because the fork had torn free of the nipples it gripped.
When her own turn came, Madeleine realised why the woman had flinched.
Her own breath was drawn in, a painful gasp, as the clamps were set to a strength she had not had to endure before, her fleshy nipples cruelly pinched right at their base.
They felt as if they were slowly slicing through, and this was at rest: the strain would be even worse when they were racing, with the bounce of the buggy translated into even greater pressure.

Once again the Stewards stepped forward, this time to lift each foot in turn and scratch the sole with the point of a penknife to ensure no discreet extra lining had been added to give protection from the harshness of the track.
The race must be run on fully bare feet, though Madeleine had no doubt that her antagonist had been as carefully prepared and hardened as herself.

Now they were under starter’s orders, and the owners tossed for starting position.
Madeleine groaned as Morgan called incorrectly, and she had to take the outside position.
She could do without the disadvantage this conferred.
This strapping peasant was going to be difficult enough without that.

The flag went up, and then dropped.
Madeleine hurled herself at the ravaging hook in her gut, regardless of the hurt, and tried desperately to snatch a lead that would enable her to cross onto the inside track before the first bend but, though she bought an early lead at the price of a cruel bruising in her guts, it was not enough to take them clear, and she had to round the bend on the outside, falling back again to her rival’s shoulder.
Her only chance was to try a sustained attack all the way down the straight, but not this time, the first effort had been punishing, and she needed time to re-gather her strength.
Bob seemed to sense her strategy, and made no effort to dissuade her from dropping in behind the other buggy, and following it for the rest on the first lap.

On each of the next straights she made another attack, but, though encouraged by Bob’s whip slicing into her back and flanks, could not quite snatch enough distance to move across.
A lap later she tried another tack, attacking on the bend, hoping to catch her rival by surprise, and be past before she could step up her own pace in reply, but the extra distance round the curve was too much for her.
Besides, the other team were no novices, and not easily caught by such a stratagem, and the big strong blonde was keeping up a punishing pace throughout.

She made a desperate try on lap five, then, as they entered the last lap, fell in behind again in a procession of two.
Both women were showing signs of distress now.
The continuous demanding effort, coupled with the need to inflict unceasing and unspeakable pain on their own bodies to keep going, pain in the deepest and most intimate parts of those bodies, was draining the strength of even these highly trained and motivated females.
As they approached the last bend, before the finishing straight, the big Polish mare was rolling slightly.
Her unsteady gait took her close to clipping the inside of the curve, where constant wear had left a rough patch.
Her foot hit a worn spot, causing her to stumble and, as she tried to recover her poise, the nearside wheel of the buggy hit the pot-hole. The resulting jarring blow of the horn in her belly threw her off balance, so she no longer leaned in to keep the buggy running round the curve and for a moment she held a straight course, tangential to the bend.
Bob saw the chance, and brought his whip slashing down again and again on the sweating white flesh in front of him, but he was too late.
Madeleine had already seen the first stumble and, anticipating the outcome - it was her home track and she knew every painful inch of it - had hurled herself into the gap as it opened, screaming with the effort, and the tearing agony in her belly.
One yard, two, and their hub caps were level.
The Polish woman made an equally self
-
lacerating lunge to get back her position, but it was too late, the hubs had passed, the home team had the right to the inside track, and held the counter attack to the start of the final straight, which they entered with a bare yard in hand.

Both women hurled their bodies at the hooks in their bellies, venting their anguish in screams of pain at every stride, their heads rolling, sweat pouring down their anguished bodies, running for pride, for honour and, in one case at least, for a gristly finger of sensitive flesh where all her sexual nerve ends came to their ultimate zenith, the hub of all her erotic life at stake.

Screaming and swaying, their drivers standing
behind them whipping the flesh from their shoulders, they crossed the line, Madeleine barely, but indisputably in front.
When Bob drew her up just past the post, there was blood coming from her vulva running down her thighs.

Morgan waved off the congratulations of his party, and hurried over to lead in his winner.

“Didn’t I tell you she had class?” he said, handing Bob down, “she’d beat anything on two legs if she kept in training.
She’s got courage too, look at that blood.
You’d better get the vet to her as soon as you can.”

The vet turned out to be her old acquaintance, her driver of the previous visit.
She was made to lie on the gynae bench again while the vet opened up her vagina and examined the walls with a penlight.

“Just a small tear,” she announced, “nothing to worry about.
I expect one of the blisters left by the soldering iron gave way under the strain.
A bit too handy with that iron, those stewards.
Two or three touches would be quite enough to establish the woman’s clean, but they like to feel the belly jump, and give her a few more for luck.”

She took a small phial and a cotton swab from her bag
. “I’ll just put on a bit of sty
ptic to stop the flow; she’ll be as right as rain in the morning.
Hold on girl, this may sting a little.”

Sting, she thought, what’s a little sting after what I’ve been through, but she bucked and writhed all the same, hissing through her teeth as the astringent solution ate into the raw flesh of the open tear.

At ‘stables’ that evening Morgan was in expansive mood, having basked in the glory of the winning owner and enjoyed a good dinner with like-minded afficionados of this most cruel and demanding variation of the sport of pony-girl racing.

“You did well, the pair of you, and I’m damned glad, and damned grateful to you both.
You beat them fair and square.”

“The Pole was good,” Bob put in, “she held nothing back, and damn near had the beating of us. I expect she’ll get to keep her clit a little longer.”

“Don’t you believe it,” Morgan replied, “Folkstein’s a stickler for his word.
He said she’d be gelded if she lost this time, and lose she did.
She’s to be cut in the morning, the vet’s staying over.
By this time tomorrow she’ll be lighter by a nubbin, and from what we saw of the brute between her legs this morning, that’ll be a few ounces.
It looked like a full quarter-pounder to me,” he guffawed, as he bade them good-night.

During the night, she heard the sound of weeping from the stall across the way, where the blonde woman lay, perhaps out of fear of the ordeal before her, perhaps in mourning for the coming loss of something so dear to her.
She would have liked to comfort the woman, but they were both tethered in their stalls, and even now she wouldn’t break the rule of dumbness that held here, partly from pride, partly because she wouldn’t put it past Morgan to set a watch on her, especially tonight when there would be another woman within earshot, and one in distress at that.
She could believe his devious mind had set up the situation purposely so that he could triumph in the end by sending her back in disgrace, even at this late stage, for breaking a cardinal rule of the ponygirl.

The Polish woman was ‘cut’ the next morning, after breakfast.
She was led to the same bench at the end of the stables, where the veterinary woman awaited her.
She whimpered as she was made to lie back and open her legs and, though she didn’t speak words as such, Madeleine could hear her making a piteous ‘nng..nng...nng’ as antiseptic was swabbed onto her exposed vulva, and the labia retracted with clamps.
Her cries became even more urgent as the vet took hold of the pulsating thumb like stub with forceps, drawing it out so that its full glistening length was exposed.
More antiseptic round the base, then the swab exchanged for a scalpel.
Two steady cuts, one either side, deep into the root from which it sprang, and the vet held the nubbly piece of intimate woman flesh aloft as the woman’s shrieks, echoing round the building. proclaimed the loss of her essential femininity. It set the listener’s belly to quivering as she cringed in her stall, trying to shut out the evidence of the horrendous deed.
Could she, she wondered, ever be brought to submit to such a fate, if she gave her life to this terrifying sport?