The Blooding

It was a cool, crisp March morning, and dappled sunlight fell through the trees. Tom felt a keen sense of anticipation as the horn sounded, and the hounds quickened down the stony track. The dogs had found the scent and he kicked his horse into a stiff canter to keep up. But almost immediately the horses in front of him bunched up sharply, and he heard the whipper-in calling: "Fuckers."

The huntsmen had entered a wide, muddy clearing on the edge of the forest, where thirty or forty protestors were waiting for them. Tom saw a ragtag bunch of students and layabouts, mostly dressed in jeans and trainers. Most were holding banners or placards; others grasped sheaves of leaflets. As the hunt moved through the clearing, Tom heard angry taunts from the protestors: "Killers!", "Bastards!", "Scum!".

Tom reined in his horse alongside a girl holding a placard marked "murderers". He regarded her with amusement.

"You know this is a drag hunt?" he said. "We haven't murdered anything for years."

"And we're here to make sure you don't," she retorted. She was a pretty thing, he noticed, tall and slim with short tousled hair, though dowdily dressed in jeans and a body-warmer. She was standing with an unshaven man with a placard marked: "Filth".

Tom turned and patted his saddle in invitation: "Why don't you join me?"

"Don't be ridiculous," she snapped.

"I'm serious. If you want to monitor us, then what better way?"

She looked reticently at the man beside her, who himself appeared uncertain. Tom reached down. She hesitated a moment longer, then took his hand. He helped her get her foot up into the stirrup, and her leg over the horse's back. Her movements were awkward and her breath had quickened: he sensed her apprehension.

"Get comfortable," he said. He felt her adjust her weight behind him in the saddle.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Laura."

"Tom. Have you ridden before?"

"No."

"Then hold on."

He whipped the reins and the horse set off at a swift trot to catch up with the rest of the hunt. Laura held awkwardly to the saddle, but the bridleway was stony and uneven, and as the horse gathered speed she quickly became unsteady in the saddle.

"Hold onto me," Tom advised.

She hesitated again, but was glad of the support as she wrapped her arms round his red coat. The group of horses moved on apace, quickly passing through the thin strip of forest and emerging onto open farmland. Ahead, she could hear the dogs barking. The horse was strong and beautiful, and, rather in spite of herself, she felt excited to be up in the saddle.

Over the next hour, the hunt moved through fields, villages, valleys and scrubland. The huntsmen would shout to each other, and the horn would sound periodically, calling the hounds to heel. Tom explained to Laura what was happening. He showed her how the whippers-in kept the pack of dogs together, stopping them from straying or chasing other quarry. After an hour or so, the huntsmen's calls began to become more excited, and the horses gathered pace.

"They're onto him," Tom called, whipping the horse forward. "Hold on tighter."

Ahead, the hounds were dashing down through a muddy stream bed. Tom urged the horse on, over the broken dirt of the field. Laura grew anxious, and Tom felt her clutching him harder as the horse jumped and cleared the ditch. Beyond, the group of horses widened into a semi-circle, surrounding the baying hounds.

"Look," Tom instructed, and Laura saw the dogs ripping at a ragged piece of cloth: the drag. "There's your murder."

They went after three more drags that morning, and afterwards circled back towards the stable.

"I'll take you back," Tom said. He called to one of the other huntsmen, then broke away and rode back through the woodlands at a stiff trot. At the clearing they had originally left, Laura's unshaven companion was waiting with a few of the other protestors. Tom helped her down from the horse.

"Satisfied, I trust?" he asked her.

"Thank you," she said.

"A pleasure."

Laura's companion, Geoff, bounded over: "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she reassured him, uneasily. "I'm fine."

The next weekend the hunt rode out again, and there was a larger group of protestors waiting. Tom saw Laura amongst them, and reined in. This time she was without a placard, though her companion held a rather larger one marked "Pricks".

"Monitoring us again?" Tom enquired. "You don't trust us?"

She smiled coyly and said nothing. Tom noticed the bodywarmer had gone, to be replaced by a smart black woollen jacket over a crisp white blouse. He extended a hand down to her. She slipped her leg up over the horse's back and joined him in the saddle, rather more keenly than before. As he took up the reins, she wrapped her arms tightly around his waist. Geoff grimaced as they set off.

After the previous week's hunt, Laura was full of anticipation, but after only a short canter across flat farmland, the hounds had the drag and the horses halted. She felt a sense of disappointment; anticlimax.

"A shame," Tom sighed. He explained how the hounds could pick up and follow an artificial trail much faster than the trail of a fox, meaning that the hunt was often over more quickly. For over twenty minutes the huntsmen waited impatiently for the next trail to be laid. Several of the horsemen eyed Laura with disdain. Tom drew a silver hip flask and took a swig. He offered it back to Laura: "Whiskey?". She hesitated a moment, then accepted. The burning liquid felt good in her throat, and within a few minutes her spirits had begun to lift. They set off again.

Disappointingly, however, the next trail was barely longer than the first, taking them at a steady canter over fields and scrubland, and eventually to a shallow ditch where the hounds had already found the drag. The huntsmen were circling, grumbling about another likely long wait.

Tom passed the flask again, and Laura took another, longer draft.

"Would you care for a real ride?" Tom enquired.

"Why not?"

"Then hold on." Tom guided the horse round, and they took off back across the fields at a fast trot. Soon they picked up a trail that curved across a wide swathe of heathland towards a coppiced wood. Tom whipped the horse onwards, and they began to pick up speed. As they reached a gallop, Laura began to feel uneasy. She nudged her body closer to Tom, and gripped him tightly. The horse entered the woodland at speed, and raced along a narrow bridleway, kicking up dirt. Laura could feel the passing foliage brushing roughly against her jacket. Then Tom guided the horse down an even narrower unmade track. The ride became very unsteady, and Laura felt rising anxiety. Then, abruptly, the ground seemed to drop away, and they were descending a steep, muddy, uneven slope, between tall trees. Ahead was a brambly hedge, and Tom was urging the horse on towards it. Laura was sure there was no way the horse could clear the hedge, and she felt a sudden surge of panic. She gave a little cry as Tom kicked the horse hard and she felt its powerful flank thrusting, driving it up and over the hedge. A flock of starlings erupted upwards from the hedge as the horse cleared it and continued at a gallop into the grassy field beyond.

They rode like that for over an hour, Laura pressed tight into Tom's back as he drove the animal onward, seemingly ever harder and faster. Laura's anxiety had turned into excitement, and then into something else. Tom's strong back; the huge power of the horse underneath her; the rhythmic friction of her body against the saddle: All had conspired to leave her feeling a confusing mix of apprehension and arousal.

They returned to the original clearing, which was empty now. Tom swung down from the horse first, then reached up for Laura. Laura took his hand and clambered down. She was still a little breathless. She stood half facing Tom. He reached out and gently touched her arm, drawing her closer. Then there was a shout from across the clearing: "Laura!" Her companion, Geoff, was lurching toward them. Laura stepped away from Tom.

"Laura, are you alright?" Geoff exclaimed.

"I'm- I'm alright. Yeah."

"Did you see anything? Any transgressions?" He was glaring at Tom.

"I saw nothing."

That night Laura slept beside Geoff, but it was Tom who was in her thoughts, and it was Tom she dreamed of. The following weekend's hunt would be the last of the season.

It was a beautiful morning as Tom rode out. The air was crisp, and wisps of mist hung between the trees. Beneath the forest canopy, dew laced the underbrush. The horsemen followed the hounds into the clearing, where yet more protestors were assembled. As the procession moved between the contorted faces and the scrawled placards, Tom's heart sank. Laura was nowhere to be seen. He reined in and allowed his horse to slow and drop back, scanning the crowd but without success.

"Come on Tom, you slack fuck," another huntsman shouted back.

Reluctantly, Tom flicked the reins and his horse moved to catch up, breaking into a slow trot.

"Tom!"

He flicked round and saw her breaking ranks with the protestors and running towards him.

"Laura, thank God!" he exclaimed. "We almost went without our monitor. Christ alone knows what we would have got up to!"

There was a new excitement amongst the huntsmen that morning, which Laura attributed to the season's end. Even the dogs seemed to feel it, barking cacophonously and surging forward with vigour at the sound of the horn. The hunt moved out across the moor at pace, before veering down an uneven slope into dense woodland. Here the pace of the horses was arrested; they found themselves having to pick their way between gnarled roots and thorny branches. The dogs were further ahead, sniffing through the underbrush. Tom's horse was the first to reach a clearing, beyond which the undergrowth was less dense, and the way clearer. Suddenly, there were several loud shouts from the huntsmen behind, and much growling from the dogs.

"There!" Tom shouted.

Ahead, Laura spotted a fox dashing out of the underbrush, pursued by the pack.

Laura felt that surge of power rise up through the horse's flank again, and the animal burst forward at Tom's command. The hounds were charging amongst the trees, and Tom's horse had to weave left and right to keep pace.

"Down!" Tom shouted, and pushed Laura down and to the right, as they raced beneath an overhanging branch. Then, almost immediately, they had to jump over a ditch, and Laura had to grip tightly to stop herself from slipping. Beyond the ditch there were fewer obstacles, and Tom's horse caught up with the hounds, just as they caught the terrified fox. Laura saw the fox's body jerk back as the leading hound caught it, then several other dogs ripped into it, mauling it about and sending fur and blood flying into the air.

The horse halted, and Tom climbed down. They were well ahead of the other horsemen, and besides the horse and the dogs it was just the two of them in the clearing. Laura felt dizzy and numb. She accepted Tom's hand and climbed down beside him. Then Tom approached what was left of the fox, and the hounds backed away. "Come." He beckoned to Laura, kneeling by the fox's remains. Feeling unreal, she joined him, and he held her by one arm. Her breathing was quick and shallow, her almond eyes wide. Gently, he touched the fox's remains, then stroked her cheek, daubing it with blood.

They broke from the hunt shortly after that, riding deeper into the woodland, not speaking. Laura felt disgusted; ashamed; aroused. She could feel the rhythm of the ride through the leather saddle between her legs. She was tingling there; a little sore; a little wet. The chafing was frustrating; she longed for a harder ride.

Tom brought the horse to halt in a clearing, and dismounted. Laura got down behind him.

"Well?" he said at last.

"You bastard."

They fell to kissing then, frantically. Laura pressed against Tom, violently, pushing him back against a thick fallen tree trunk. As they kissed, she felt his stiffening cock through his jodphurs. Still feeling dizzy, she fumbled to unbutton his fly, and pulled his prick out into view. Something primal in her was pleased to see that it was big and thick, and she quickly dropped to her knees. Tom groaned, as her lips closed around his cock. She took it deep, right to the hilt, then slowly drew back, running her tongue all around it, making Tom moan in pleasure. She sucked it then, at length. It felt so good to have his hard cock in her mouth, but she wanted him to take control, so she drew back and muttered: "fuck me".

"You want to be fucked, do you?" he said.

"You have to be rough, Tom, as rough as you can."

He ran his hand through her hair then, gently, teasingly. She let out a shuddering groan. Then he gripped her hair and thrust his cock right to the back of her mouth, holding it there. It felt so good to have him filling her, but he was so big that she could barely even moan. Then he withdrew and thrust again and again and again, roughly fucking her mouth until she gagged and saliva ran from her mouth onto the forest floor.

"Get down you bitch," Tom said. He took her and shoved her down onto her hands and knees amidst the leaves and pine needles. She was panting, longing now to feel his cock in her cunt. Tom reached inside his coat, produced a hunting knife, then knelt behind her. Laura cried out as Tom cut through her belt and the seat of her jeans with one swift movement of the knife. She felt the cold steel just brush her bottom. Her pants had been cut open too, and Tom quickly tore them away. Then Tom admired her own slit, which was beautiful, black-haired and glistening. He pushed two fingers inside her, and Laura said: "Oh, fuck me Tom, come on, fuck me, come inside me." Laura felt wetter now than she had ever felt before, and her cunt was tingling and yearning to be filled. She felt Tom's fingers alternately penetrating her and frigging her. He was very dextrous, gradually quickening his pace, allowing the rhythm to build. The tingling in her cunt began to grow, and her whole body began to tighten and tremble. She felt dizzy and dissociated, and the orgasm was the strongest of her life. As she gasped for breath, she felt a strong hand pressing down on her back, pinning her in place. Tom's other hand guided his cock into her. The feel of it was amazing, filling her right up. He gripped her hips as he fucked her hard. Their bodies bucked frantically, and the clearing was filled with the sound of their moans.

The horse looked on, impassive.

Afterwards, he handed her a red silk neckerchief, which she ran through the belt loops of her jeans, roughly tying them back together. He took her back to the original clearing. She was still dizzy, yet relieved to see that the clearing was empty; Geoff had gone. Through the trees, she could see her little red hatchback where she had parked it in the lane. She slipped down off the horse.

"See you next season?" Tom said.

When Laura heard his sarcastic tone, she flushed with anger for the first time.

"Fuck you, Tom," she snapped, backing quickly towards her car.

Tom smiled.

She still had blood on her face.