An adult stories – A Gift in the Post Pt. 02 by KevinTheEngineer,KevinTheEngineer We had a pretty uneventful journey. From where we had parked at the dogging spot to just past Llanedi, the Welsh end of the M4 is at least seven-eighths of the journey, and that was all motorway. Miraculously, there were no traffic holdups. I was still the best part of naked, so we had the heating turned up.
Miranda was, for now, just Miranda. She had clothes in the back, but the nearest thing I had to acceptable public decency was the chastity belt. Given that stark bollock naked must be zero, I suppose the chastity belt would score a one on the Mary Whitehouse approval scale.
We stopped at Leigh Delamere Services for coffee. Miranda took it as an opportunity to publicly embarrass me by parking as close to the entrance as she could. First, though, I was told to wait while she nipped in at the entrance, returning 10 minutes later with a pair of Saturday Night Pink ladies elasticated swim shorts and a carrier bag. Look, I’ve bought you something to wear inside.
“But these are ladies,” I said.
She smiled at me and said, “Yes, they are pretty. Put them on.” Now, I want you in the back of the van, Alad, and don’t make me repeat myself.” I took the Alad as a sign that we were back in roll. “Yes, Mistress Miranda”.
Mercifully, there weren’t too many mean people around, so I reached for the door handle.
“Stop,” she commanded. I froze as a family with little kids got out of a car opposite us and made their way inside the service.
“Thank you, mistress.”
“It’s your job to obey my every word and, above all, trust me, Alad, but it is equally my job to look after and care for you. If you can accept that and do your best to act accordingly, there will be a future for us long after this weekend. That was very good boy; perhaps I won’t have to flay every millimetre of skin off your arse before this weekend is out.” Miranda gave me one of her very best smiles when she said that, but I did wonder if she really wanted to flay every millimetre of skin off my arse and was secretly disappointed.
“Don’t prevaricate; there are a few grown men and women about but no children or maiden aunts looking for a reason to be offended. Get your arse around to the back door of this van now.” As I reached for the door handle. Miranda reached across to me, held me by my jaw, and pulled me to her face for a kiss. It wasn’t a tongue-in-cheek job. A little more than just a friendly peck. “It’s all about trust; don’t worry, I won’t let you down,” she said, and then she kissed me again.
As she broke the kiss, she said, “Put these on. I want you pulling my cart tomorrow; I don’t want to be bailing you out of police cells.” They were at least two sizes too small. Just about every detail of my cock and balls was evident, but I thought they might just stop me from being arrested for indecent exposure.
Jumping out of the passenger door and sprinting around the back of the van was a bit of a waste of effort. The door was locked, and I didn’t have the key. I got there before Miranda was out of her side of the van.
“My, you’re very quick,” she said. “You didn’t think I’d give up this opportunity to show off my boy, did you?” A group of twenty-something males and females stood slack-jawed, gawping at me.
“Turn around, boy!” Miranda ordered, “Loud enough for the group to hear,” one of the guys said, making a lot of noise. “Oh my god, look at the pussy in the panties.”
My cock was telling the world what a slut I was by trying to poke its way out of the swim shorts. My cocky head had found a fold where the stretchy fabric of the shorts was sewn to the less stretchy waist; it was tenting the shorts obscenely.
Miranda reached down and held the outline of my cocked head in her hand. Don’t you wish he had a big cock like this instead of a big mouth?” She said this to the noisy fecker’s girl. “He knows how to make me very happy with it as well. Apparently, Miranda wasn’t above telling a lie to make her point.
In the van, Miranda produced from her new carrier bag a tee shirt, jeans, and a pair of trainers. The jeans were a perfect fit, but the tee was a size too small.
She ran her fingers over my nipples and said, “I think these need a little more decoration, don’t you?” If Kay and Kevin are at the meeting, I will see what they have to match these rings.
“Who are Kay and Kevin Mistress?”
Kay did your piercings at the fetish market. You are fairly well acquainted with Kevin’s work. He made your belt, and when we get this race out of the way, you’re going to be in that twenty-four, seven. I paid a lot of money for that, and I want to get the benefit of owning a very horny stud. Kay is Kevin’s wife, slut, and sub. Quite the prettiest little thing on the sub/dom scene, an ex-nurse and the only person I trust to do my piercings. That means, because I trust her, she is going to do all of yours.
I don’t get a say in this, do I, mistress?
No, of course not.
We caused quite a stir in the service foyer. My clothing was nothing out of the ordinary, but Miranda had put me in a simple strap armbinder. It held me with wrist cuffs that were held together with a welded ring and cuffs that sat just above my elbows. They were connected by a short chain. Then, pretty much just for show, the two sets of cuffs were connected by a strap.
My final little bit of bondage was a dog collar. With the buckle set to its maximum, it was a little tight. Miranda was a little concerned, but I assured her I would be OK. Finally, she clipped a dog lead to my collar and led me off to feed me coffee through a straw and finger feed me a toasted sandwich for lunch.
When we got to the farm, there were one or two other horse boxes there. It seemed very friendly; I expected far more rivalry. Miranda told me most people here were here just to enjoy themselves. The hard-line S/M party I was expecting just wasn’t happening. Miranda said it would be a bit more leather and whips after the race tomorrow night.
Miranda and I were getting the sulky racing cart out of the horsebox. It’s the same cart she uses for the trotting races she adores; she has her four-legged pony for that. I have yet to meet him. He is a little wider in the beam than me, so a different pair of shafts are needed.
Miranda My darling, how are you? The voice belonged to a woman, slightly overweight, but she carried it well. Rubenesque would sum her up perfectly. She led a terrified-looking skinny kid around on a leash. She went on, You seem to have found a very nice pony. Have you schooled him yet?
Phoebe, darling, how are you? No, believe it or not, I only got my hands on him today. To be honest, I think he is going to be a bit of a disappointment tomorrow, but I have high hopes for him. I may have one here for the future, but he is all I have today unless Duncan turns up. I’ve told him, “No more racing for him. So I’m afraid it looks like that bitch Marieann will collect the trophy yet again.
Well, I’m not going to beat her with this specimen, am I?
Oh, dear Phoebe, probably not. It’s good to talk to you, darling. I need to get this one ready.
“Believe it or not, Phoebe and Martin are very happily married and have been for the 15 years I’ve known them.”
“He looks petrified.”
He has probably walked the course. I’d be petrified if I had to pull Phoebe around this track twice. Miranda said it just a little unkindly.
I was working on the sulky, and as I was going to be the one doing the hard work, I thought I’d give it a once-over. I don’t think my new mistress has ever heard of the word “maintenance.” I found an old towel and used it as a catch-all to strip, clean, and re-grease the wheels. Ease a binding brake and get some air in the tyres. Most of the running gear seemed to be mountain bike spares, so fairly simple stuff. While I was sitting on the ground, an old boy, well into his 60s, walked up and asked where Miranda was.
“She went off to find us something to eat, mate.”
“Mind if I wait?”
“Not at all, buddy.” There’s a kettle in the box; you could be useful and make us both a brew.
We sat and talked for a bit, and it didn’t take long for me to realise this was Duncan. I don’t suppose it took him long to realise I was his replacement. I started to apologise for ousting him, but he insisted I’d probably saved his life. I ain’t the man I used to be,” he said. Miranda had snuck up on us while we were talking.
“You were never the man you thought you were, you old goat.”
These two were obviously good friends. I was relieved, though, that they were just friends.
“Are you staying the night, Duncan?”
“If I’m invited, but I don’t want to intrude.”
“You can sleep in the top bunk,” said Miranda.
But you fetch your own water to shower in the morning. I forgot to top up the tank. Someone will have a wheelbarrow and a water tank; try Phoebe.
“I’ve got a favour to ask,” said Duncan. “Bit of a cheek, really. Can I pull the cart for the morning parade? Just for old time’s sake?”
“Oh, I can’t say now, Duncan!” “I have to talk to Keith about that.”
“What’s to talk about?” I said. As I understand it, it’s all about the etiquette of The Other Pony Club. I know nothing of that.”
“Not the race, though I can’t do another.” “It will finish me off.”
“Well, if Keith doesn’t mind,” said Miranda.
“I can watch and learn a bit,” I said. ”
“Guy, the guy who runs this is putting on a curry in an hour. When you get up to the house, it’s all you can smell. I saw your car coming up the field, Duncan, so I took the liberty of ordering you one as well. Guy says it’s not going to be too hot, so we should all be OK. I presume you are OK with curry, Keith.
Duncan and I both agreed that curry would be a godsend. Later on, when Miranda had gone off for a natter with Phoebe, Duncan warned me off eating anything prepared by Miranda; “the woman can burn water,” he said.
“Duncan told me he had seen a good old friend walking around the camping area. She doesn’t compete in the races anymore, but she may share a nice, warm bed with him for the night. If he plays his cards right, I may even get my bum spanked. If I don’t come back until the morning, don’t worry. Tell Miranda I’ve gone to see if I can mend a bridge with Katy.”
I cheated a bit; whether pony-boys can talk or not is a moot point, but this one can open Google Earth on his mistress’s tablet when she leaves it unlocked and measure the length of the course. Twice around the track that is clearly visible using the app and measure it. So it came up very close to 2.5 kilometres per lap. 3 kilometres is my 3-times-a-week training run. OK, I was pulling Miranda on what amounted to a two-wheeled bike. I hadn’t seen anyone here who I thought had a cat in hell’s chance of beating me, though. I hadn’t seen “The Bitch,” and she still hadn’t shown herself or, more importantly, Zuse, the unbeaten ponyboy. I’d be getting a good look at him soon enough.
I was, as per my mistress’s instructions, resting on the bunk, not sleeping. I was far too excited for that; I was focused on the race now. I’m a bit off track when something I really want to excel at is this close. I’ve offended friends by being rude before a game of rugby, even unimportant games. It’s hard to focus, though, when you still haven’t seen the real opposition and Miranda’s divine arse and boobs are swanning around in front of you.
Her lounging clothes were gear that looked as though she had read a guide to my own personal cock erection triggers. She was wearing a corset, and to be honest, I now know she wears one more often than not. This one was a red satin underbust affair with a half-cup bra that matched perfectly. I could see the top of her areolas and also the outline of her nipple jewellery. The thing that was pressing my button was her knickers, not a single hair peeking out, and embroidered on the front the words, Winners Enclosure.
She sat next to me on the bed. “You’re supposed to be resting; are you going to tell your mistress what’s going through your head?”
“I can promise you faithfully.” Mistress you, just you, I have a thousand questions. Oh, and maybe just a little visualisation for tomorrow’s race.”
“Ask me a question, any question you want.”
“Are you completely shaved down there?”
“Down where?”
“You know Mistress’s knicker area.”
Miranda giggled. “Knicker area?” “Do you mean my pussycat?”
“Yes Mistress”
“No, I don’t shave; I had a Hollywood electrolysis procedure done five years ago. It cost a fortune and hurt like a bitch, but I’m glad I did it. Would you like to feel it? It’s so smooth. Do you want to touch it? If you’re a very good boy, I may let you kiss it.
I couldn’t speak.
Cat got your tongue.
Err, yes, mistress.
What the cat has your tongue?
No Mistress. Can I kiss it, please?
But you would see it then, and I promised myself I would only let you see it if you won.
I can close my eyes. Mistress
Oh, I don’t think I can trust you yet, and you may try to take it further. I’m only a wee slip of a girl, and you’re such a big, strong stallion. You could take advantage of me.
I promise I won’t mistreat you.
Miranda was holding my cock now. It was so hard, I think it would have scratched glass.
And this thing, she said, squeezing it. It may go off and waste all your energy. We don’t want to waste your energy before the race, do we?
I was so wound up now that I think I would have castrated myself with a soup spoon if she had asked me to.
You could put your hands in these.
On the corners of the bed, there were cuffs on short lengths of rope. She pulled one out of its hiding place. Put your wrist in here. I did it without a second thought; Miranda buckled me in. Then my left wrist, then my ankles. But what do I do about this? I think if I let you kiss my puss, you will probably let your energy spurt out. I know what to do: open wide.
She held on to a head harness. This is your racing harness. It will have a bit; it’s in the rules. Well, it’s my rule.
Oh god, man, you look fucking gorgeous. Has anyone ever told you you have an obscenely big willy? I’m going to be very disappointed tonight if you don’t win this afternoon. After all, it is the winner’s enclosure.
Joking aside, my dear Alad, You cannot run with that fucker sticking out in front of you. It would undoubtedly help in a photo finish, but I fear if it bounced down, you would trip over it. We have a problem. I have a cock harness for Duncan, but I think I’d have to mince your fecker to get half of it in. I’m reluctant to do that, and you probably think less of the idea than I do.
I do have a chastity cage I had made for you. By the same man who made the belt you lied to me about. That reminds me: I still owe you twelve with the cane for that little fib. Anyway, I’m going to try you in it. I can lash it to your pony harness, and when it gets dark after we have eaten the curry, you can try running in it.
“Mistress.”
“Yes Alad.”
“You promised me a kiss.”
Miranda smiled. “Oh, my pony wants to be my pussyboy, does he?” He wants to check that my smooth fanny is perfect; does he want to check that my bottom is clean as well?
She knew I did; I told her that I wanted to be made to perform analingus when I first spoke to her at the fetish market munch.
“I’m going to offer you a once-in-a-lifetime offer. You can kiss and lick me as I want, for as long as I want, and when I want. If you do that and agree to wearing some kind of chastity device, I will let you do it without a blindfold now.
Yes, mistress, please, mistress.
Wait a minute. Do you understand that you are giving your cock to me? I decide when you cum, under what conditions you cum, how often you cum, and how I make you cum.
Yes, mistress, please, mistress.
I also decide that when I let you out of chastity, it is for a tease and denial session, a relief session, a wank, a blowjob, anal, a titty wank, or I let you squirt your spunk in my pussy.
Yes, Mistress, please, Mistress.
And finally, and I don’t think we spoke about this, I want you to tell me in your own words that you agree with these. The final condition for now is that every drop of cum you produce goes back inside you. You will lick me clean, and I mean every drop. You can reach it with your tongue.
I thought for a moment. Not about saying yes. Giving my cock to this beautiful woman was a dream come true for me. I thought it was best to say what I thought: it was easy.
Mistress Miranda, please do with me as you see fit. I am yours–not just my cock, but all of me. My sole purpose is to try to make you happy.
Oh, my, I didn’t expect you to say that. No negotiation? No bargaining?
No, mistress, there is no point. I want to be yours. How can I negotiate from that position? I have to put my trust and faith in you.
Then, it’s a little earlier than I expected, but I have a gift for you. I hope you see it as a gift.” She produced a large jewellery box. “I thought I may be wasting my money buying this. I ordered and paid for it before I ordered and paid for your chastities. Mistress Miranda opened the box. Inside was a simple silver collar with the words Property of Mistress Miranda engraved along its outer circumference. The only other adornment was a 20-mm ring. If the guy who made your chastity belt is as good as he says he is, this will be a perfect fit. Will you wear it for me?
Oh yes, please, Mistress. I’d love to.
Sadly, it isn’t a permanent lock yet, but the day you retire from rugby, it will be.
“Lots of guys wear jewellery when they are playing mistress.”
“Then wear it, but if you get hurt, they will want it off to X-ray you. If I told you how much it cost, you might forget your place and shout at your mistress. When I got these three things for you, I got them on separate invoices, so I didn’t see the whole bill at once.”
“How much—”
Miranda cut me off in midsentence. If you ask me that again, I will give you fifty with my bastard cane. It’s a Thai prison pattern. Drug dealers have died in Thai prisons under a beating of fewer strokes than that. And then she did something totally unexpected: she kissed me.
Then the mask didn’t just slip; it fell right off. You bastard, you made me fall in love with you. I have never fallen in love before. When I’m too old and ugly, please let me down lightly. And then she did that thing that women do to make you feel like you’re the biggest arse in the world. She cried.
The worst thing was that I was tied down. I could barely lift my head when all I wanted to do was hold her.
Please don’t cry. Please don’t. I love you too, and I want to be your slave forever. I want you–not just your boobs, not just your bum, all of you. I love you for what’s in your head, not your bra. I was just about to complain that I hadn’t had my kiss yet, but someone was knocking on the other side of the door.
Miranda wiped her ruined makeup onto a towel and opened the passenger door a crack. It was Phoebe. Phoebe is a big girl and wasn’t having any waiting on the doorstep, so she pushed straight into the horse box. You should see what the bitch is driving now, she said. It doesn’t matter what you have; she has to have something bigger. You need to come outside and look at this.
We can’t really come out now. Phoebe, for the first time, noticed me. Jesus Christ on a bike–that’s going to take a bit of initiative when it comes to playing hide the sausage. Then she burst out laughing. Oh, Lordy Lord. The bitch will have to search far and wide to find one bigger than that.
Phoebe darling. Please don’t be offended, but please fuck off. I’m rather busy right now.
Oh, I can see you have your hands very full, darling. Phoebe looked at me and said to herself, “Ooh dear, always the bridesmaid.” They gave me a big smile. If she ever throws you out of her stable, Alad,
Miranda said, “Yehhh.” “That’s going to happen.”
“Bye, lucky bitch,” said Phoebe, “see you at the starting gate.”
As soon as Phoebe left. Miranda dropped her knickers off and stepped out of them.
Don’t you dare even think of cumin. This is my treat. She climbed on the bed, put her calfs either side of my head, reached behind me, and grabbed a handful of my hair. locked her ankles behind either side of my head and said as she squeezed my head in the trap she made from her legs, I like this slow; don’t dare go faster than my instructions. Until I tell you, just lick my lips, and I’ll see how deep you can get it in me in half an hour or so.
After ten minutes locked in heaven, Malissa lifted her bum from my face. It was her doing; I’d happily have spent the rest of my life trapped in there.
“This is like my dad buying me a 99 from Mr. Whippy when I was a kid and having to watch it melt.”
“Don’t try to hold back. It won’t impress me today.” She fell onto my cock with her mouth and gave me a wonderful, no-frills blowjob. I came in minutes. It seemed like pints of the stuff. I was expecting to have it transferred into my mouth and be ordered to eat it, but Miranda swallowed the lot. Only stopping to ask me if I was too sensitive to carry on.
I thought it was fairly obvious, as I was doing my best to escape the attentions of her tongue and lips. “Yes, can I have a few minutes?” She just giggled, said, “No way, Pedro,” then carried on while I squealed like the little kid when the big kid stole his lolly.
When I stopped trying to snap the ropes holding me and Miranda had me bone hard again, she picked up a pump bottle of lube and sat on my tummy, facing me. She touched her waxed lips, and they came away wet with her juice. She giggled again, said, “Well, maybe not then,” and dropped the pump bottle on the floor.
Holding back will impress me no end now. Then she set up a slow rhythm of short grinding strokes, I could do very little to match her. Just lie back and think of England, baby. This is a bonus for you; I was determined this wasn’t going to happen until I got you home.
Miranda ground out two orgasms for herself before mine started to rise. Miranda sensed I was getting near. If you cum before I squeeze another one out, you will be taking your balls home in a jam jar, you bastard. It was a close-run thing, and I blew my second load deep into her pussy while she was still squealing.
Miranda was very near passing out; she lay on me for a good five minutes with my cock softened but still inside her. Finally. She said, “Is it a leap year this year?”
No love next year. But I can ask you.
No. I’m forty-seven years old. Your bearly thirty, I’m mean and selfish; I take and don’t give. You will probably hate me in six months.
You have bought me a pair of nice trainers, a pair of jeans, a tee shirt, a chastity belt that must have cost thousands, a chastity cage that cost hundreds, a tee shirt, and a pair of ladies knickers. Add to that a Costa and a toasted sandwich. In return, I bought you a glass of pispoor white wine! OK, you’ve taken every drip of cum I have to offer for the moment, but you gave me the best slice of honey pie I’ve ever had, so how does this mean and selfish work then?
It doesn’t matter; I’ve got your collar for as long as I can be yours. I don’t care if you won’t marry me as long as I’m your submissive.
What if you were one of my submissives? Keith. Could you share with me?
Ooh, err
Do you think you have the sole right to my pussy? What if I locked you in a cage with that nasty spiky belt and made you watch someone else make me cum?
I don’t know, mistress. I—
There is someone else, but it’s very different.
I think I began to cry. I couldn’t believe this; I thought I’d found the one for me.
I told you I was selfish. I love you both, and if one of you asks me to choose, I will. I swear I will choose the other.
“Is it Duncan?” I asked.
No, you silly boy, it’s a girl. I’m bisexual.
I was still tied to the bed. My cock had softened, but I was still inside Miranda.
Does that make a difference, baby? I think it does. That was a question; it requires an answer.
I don’t know!
It does, and I think you know. As soon as I said it was a girl, you got hard again.
Yes mistress. It makes a difference.
No, it doesn’t, Keith. It makes no difference at all. I’m your master. I decide when you cum, how frequently you cum, and how you cum. If I put this collar on you, then you become my property. Like this van, I don’t ask it to take me on my trips. I don’t let my Jaguar do that either. I pick the one I want to use.
If I want another man, I will take one, and if you truly want to be my submissive, you will be pleased I’ve found someone else as good as you. They will have to be as good as you; I cannot see any man being better. I will concede one thing to you: while you wear my collar, I will never collar another man or want to collar another man. If I did take someone, it would be for a fuck, just a fuck, nothing else. Have you anything to say?
I don’t like the idea of another man inside you, mistress; it will make me very unhappy.
Then why, since we started talking about this, are you absolutely rigid inside me now?
I didn’t have an answer.
Do you have anything more to say? Shall I turn you into a virtual eunuch like Phoebe has turned Skinny Boy? At night, he is locked in his cage, home or away, and listens to Phoebe masterbate or, if she gets lucky, makes love to someone else. I’ve made love to Phoebe with Skinny Boy looking on several times. I’ve watched Phoebe use a 12-inch strap on him.
I gasped at the poor bastard.
“He loves it; it’s his only pleasurable relief these days.” Miranda laughed, “I’ve got a strapon!”
No, please, Mistress, not that.
You’re not only hard; I can feel your cock throbbing inside me. It’s a wonderful lie detector, Subby Boy. I thought you’d like it. Men never admit it, but you’re not on your own; lots do. I’ll be gentle with you. I won’t buy a foot long just yet, not for a week or two. Miranda laughed at my reaction. She instinctively knew exactly where my buttons were and precisely how hard to push them. She just knew.
And then my bastard dick really dropped me in the shit. Without any other stimulation than Miranda contracting her kegel muscles, I came again, and I came fucking hard”.
Well, that ends that argument. Miranda laughed at me. It wasn’t a nasty laugh; it wasn’t at me; it was at my realisation that she knew more about me than I did. My dick was so soft now that she couldn’t hold it, and I just slithered out.
Now she jumped off me and went to one of the lockers on the wall. She pulled out a little purple velvet bag. The same colour velvet that my chastity belt came in said, “I need you to ask me to put your cock in this, and I need you to ask now, properly!
Please, mistress, lock my cock up.
Who’s cock. She gave my balls a slap. Not too hard, but hard enough to ensure my attention.
Your cock, mistress, please put your tube on your cock.
It’s your tube, silly; I bought it as a present for my boy; the key is mine, though. You are forbidden from ever touching it. If you ever feel inclined to even touch my key, just a touch, and I’ll beat you unconscious with my bastard cane.
Three months ago, I bought this. You have part of the set already. I’ve been so looking forward to using it to help me control this monster cock I found.”
I thought my dick was going to be too big for it, but the ring she had bought for me three months ago was no accidental purchase; now it came into play. Miranda offered the tube up to my cock. In the bag was a stainless steel wire with a ring on one end and a hook on the other. She engaged the hook end of the wire in my reverse Prince Albert piercing, using the wire to hold my cock head still while she pushed the tube neatly over my shrunken cock.
It was definitely hers now, and I was along with it. As soon as it was confined, it started to try to grow. Oh no, you don’t, you little bastard,” she said to it. You stay in that cage now until I need your services. There was a hinged ring. She slipped it behind my sack, and when it closed, I felt it lock together with the tube.
I suppose now you think I’ve been planning to trap you for three months, don’t you?
Err, yes, mistress.
Well, you are very wrong. Do you remember 15 years ago when you were in a nightclub in Manchester? You and your friends had just beaten the Kent Colts to win a big final.
“Err, yes, mistress.”
“You were very drunk, but you still managed to get it up for an old married fat lass,” I think you called her.
“Ohh shit”
Don’t worry; you were right. That description fit me perfectly, then. I don’t know if you remember, but you came on my tits when I gave you a blowjob. I wanked you off, and still, despite being pissed out of your stupid teanage head, you still fucked me to orgasm twice.
It was the first time I’d ever orgasmed. You burned my world to the ground.
I’m sorry, Mistress. I didn’t—-
Mistress placed a finger on my lips. Shhh. You woke up my sleeping inner slut that night. Six weeks later, when I couldn’t get my cunt of a first husband to even diddle my clit, I left him. It’s not a nice word, but he was a cunt. He convinced me I was frigid and that I was incapable of getting an orgasm. I told him about you. I told him you fucked me properly, and I screamed in the car until someone came to check if I was OK. Then you got on the coach with your friends and went back to Leeds. I went to just about every rugby club in Yorkshire until one day I saw you watching. You weren’t even playing, but I knew who you were then.
I’ve watched you play dozens of times. More so since you moved to London. When I married my second husband, I married for money. He married for eye candy. I was a trophy wife of sorts. He didn’t fuck me either, for a different reason: he was gay, a gay politician in the family values party. I was his validation. You can find lots of alleged happy couple photos in press libraries.
I was happy, after a fashion. I had money. I was getting fucked, but not by him. Not once was I discreet; I played the game. Then, when he told me he had a year to live, I started to go to rugby matches again.
I used to watch you and fantasise about you. I used to fantasise about your dick. You have no idea how that feels inside a girl. When I sat on it just a little while ago, I didn’t think I was going to be able to take it all. I know it’s silly, but when I was a little girl, my mom called it my penny. I still call it Penny. For the first time in fifteen years, Penny has gone to sleep a happy girl. Penny has friends, though. Katy Clit and Lola Lips That’s where Phoebe normally comes in, so I either give her a call on the Lez Line and you and Skinny Boy can watch, or you start lessons in cunt munching now.
I can do–
Miranda put her finger on my lips again. No, no, no, that’s a rhetorical question; you are property, and property doesn’t offer opinions. I’ll give Phoebe a call and see if she fancies a bit of sapphic love before dinner.
Phoebe. This brute has just battered my poor little pussy black and blue; it badly needs kissing better. Miranda spoke into her phone. I heard Phoebe laughing on the other end. Oh, I bet you have suffered so badly, you poor, poor girl. You better bring him with you, though; it never does to leave them on their own for too long. They start to have delusions of adequacy.
We wandered over to Phoebe and Skinny Boy’s camper van. They actually had a campervan with a box trailer. Phoebe’s sulky was in the trailer.
When we got there, Phoebe and Skinny, who is actually called Skinny, were waiting for us. The call was just Miranda winding me up. We each had a plate from Phoebe’s camper kitchen for the curry and joined the cue. While walking back to eat, a huge horse box, twice the size of Miranda’s, rumbled into the aria set aside for camping. In the passenger seat was Marieann Cooper-Smith, alongside the driver, Zac Cooper-Smith. Posh public schoolboy standoff half for one of London’s top rugby teams, Zac was once touted to become an England international.
I’m a blindside flanker, the mortal enemy of a standoff half, and I play for a different team. One of the reasons my team recently held the upper hand over Zac’s team was me. I outplayed him in every game we played. I was a yard faster than him, I was stronger than him in the upper body, and I had more stamina than him. I wanted to win. I was driven to win. I trained until I was so exhausted that I vomited.
Zac believed it was all his by right, but I knew it was mine through hard work. To be fair, he had buckets full of natural talent–far more than me. But he was a coaster. He had never developed his full potential. Life had been easy for Zac Cooper-Smith
I fell onto one of the folding chairs in the awning of Phoebe’s campervan. I was laughing my tits off. Miranda was a little taken aback, to say the least. What is it?” she said.
Pony boy Zeus and I are well acquainted, and in my best Lenny Henry voice, I said, “Better hold on; it’s going to be a bumpy ride. I filled my mistress in on the details. Miranda started planning our victory. Stick in behind him, and as you come out of the last bend, use your speed to beat him.
Sorry Mistress. This pony can talk, and he’s talking about humiliating this bastard. You just need to hold on tight and don’t fall off your perch, my pretty bird.