A Gift in the Post Pt. 03

"Best you buy us some brasso, mistress; I'll need it to polish the trophy." Because if Zac Cooper Smith is your unbeatable Zuse, I have a distinct feeling his reign is about to abruptly end tomorrow.

From that point on, I was the team captain. And my team included Phoebe and Skinny. Skinny is a strange guy; I'd assumed the camper, rig, and financing were all down to Phoebe. Not so; skinny was actually something in the city, as the movers and shakers say. He earned a small fortune, and he came from old money as well.

Phoebe was like me--a council estate kid--two people from polar opposite backgrounds who, despite those backgrounds and outward appearances, got together and forged themselves into a very strong team.

It was hard to spot at first. It appeared as though Phoebe treated Skinny like something she had scraped off the very expensive shoes Skinnyboy bought her. In the privacy of their own space, Phoebe didn't stop fussing over him. Making sure his food was right. Skinny would live on a diet of burgers and fries if Phoebe let him.

We finished our curries, and the girls shared a bottle of wine. Skinny and I rather unexpectedly got a couple of bottles of nice beer. We finished our drinks and sat under the stars. I needed to discuss race tactics. The other three just wanted to run the track as fast as they could.

For me, there is much more to it than that. I wanted to embarrass Zac and his wife. Not only did I want to beat him, but I also wanted Skinny to pull Phoebe across the finish line before Zac and Marieann.

Most of the talking tactics were actually convincing Skinny that he could do it. Skinny was skinny because he ran off every bit of food Phoebe pushed down his throat. He ran more miles a week than me. I did it for fitness. Skinny was an endorphin junkie. He ran to hit the pain barrier. Then, when you burst through it, your body releases endorphins to lift you above the pain.

I knew if I could draw Zac's speed by overextending him on the first lap, I'd piss all over him to the finish line, but more importantly, with the sting of Zac's sprint speed extracted, which I have to grudgingly admit is pretty fast, Skinny could use his superior fitness to run him down in the final straight. I was relying on Zac's ego, refusing to let his brain consider skinny a threat and his woman's I'm a "pwincess; it all belongs to me attitude, and not contributing anything to the thought process at all. I was more and more convinced Team Council Estate Plus, a posh kid, was going to pick up the first and second rosettes.

Miranda was excited. She is as competitive as I am. I'd spent a lot of the night sleeping with my face under her bum. The rotten, bad bitch left my key with Phoebe to make sure she didn't crack and let me out and lose my energy. She actually believes that the old wives tale is true. I don't care; I had her howling in the night three or four times.

When we woke up in the morning, someone had stuck a sign on the back of the van. It said

"If the caravan's rocking,

"Don't come knocking!"

It's still there today.

I immediately suspected Phoebe and Skinny, but there was a new van parked next to us in the morning. A genuine horse box. The kind you see at show jump meets and gymkhana with straw and bits of bailer twine tied to the sides. I saw an older guy, I thought that maybe I knew him. He came over and offered his hand. "I think I know you from somewhere," he said, probably rugby. I have to tell you to bring you and Miranda to breakfast at ours in ten minutes. Phe and skinny are on their way over." As he said, I heard Phoebe call.

"Hi Kevin. You've been a bad boy again." When he turned to look, there were two or three nasty welts showing below his shorts.

"Nope, Phe, I've been very, very good."

"My god, she is a sadistic bitch."

"Oh yes," said Kevin. "I'm a very lucky boy."

Ahh, I thought obviously one of us

Another guy emerged from the new van. Phoebe started introductions for my benefit.

"This is super sluts new man, Keith. Keith, this is Kevin; the tall chap is Peter; he is a Scot, but we try not to hold that against him. I assume if you two nare-do-wells are here, then both the lovely Tina and the gorgeous Susie are chained to the stove."

"Keith isn't Keith today; he is Ponyboy Alad." "Named after the winged god of Assyria, he is going to beat Zuse in the big race."

"That will be something to see," a huge brown baritone voice boomed out of Peter.

"What will be something to see, you old goat?" said an older woman, stepping out of the horse box and holding onto the arm of the Scotsman.

"This vindictive, spiteful harpie who clings to me is my wife. Her name is Susie. My darling, this is Alad. Keep this under your hat, old girl, but he is hotly tipped to beat Zuse in the big race."

"Then, just for a change, you are right, you old blowhard!" "It will be something to see."

"Will someone go get the slut out of her pit?" said Phoebe. "I'm starving".

"I've been up for ages. Miranda spoke as she stepped out of the back of our van. Beauty like this isn't an accident; it takes time to craft the correct look of a sex goddess."

She looked amazing. A black and white quarter-panelled latex underbust corset with matching quarter-cup bra Her nipples were covered by black discs, which were held in place by white gold barbels. She wore no knickers, her puss hidden from direct view by a black brooch. I was later told it was made from Whitby jet. That was held in place by a vertical white gold pin that dropped through her white labia rings.

"Jesus Christ, Miranda!" boomed Peter. Don't you need a licence to dress like that?

"No, Peter, darling." "Can I borrow him for a minute or two?" Susie, please.

"Not dressed like that, you strumpet." "He may be an old goat, but he's my old goat."

"I need his special skills, Susie." "I have a problem, or rather, my boy has a problem I need his help with."

I suppose I looked a little lost here.

Peter, is a saddlemaker pet. I want to know if he can come up with a full-time solution to your little racing problem.

What's his little racing problem, sweetie?

"Ahh, well, that's just it; it isn't little at all, Peter; it's fucking obscenely enormous. The slut wants it on display so everyone can see what she has to play with, but safe so the poor boy doesn't trip over it." Said Phoebe.

"Shut up, you tart," said Miranda.

"How big?" said Peter. "

"Even Tina will be jealous." Said Phoebe, I am. Then she turned skinny and, for the first time I ever saw her, gave him a kiss. I love my skinny boy, though. So only the tiniest bit green with envy."

Skinny turned pink. I liked this guy more and more. He was shyer than me.

I knew Phoebe still had a key to my tube. But I knew Miranda was just messing with my head when she said that last night. I wasn't surprised when she drew her keychain from her cleavage with my key on it. I was surprised when she unlocked me, pulled my cock out of the tube, gave me a shake to wake it up, and said, "That's how small it is."

Peter's voice boomed out again. Tina may be able to help you out now. I made a harness for Kevin. He has you beat, Kevin, but not by much. This thing has a lock on the buckle, but it's only for show. A pair of nail scissors would get you into it, or out of it, for that matter.

If it helps beat the pusillanimous pair, you can have it. But if he's bigger than Kevin, you're a very lucky girl.

"Ohh Tina. I have missed you." Tina and Miranda obviously went back a long way. Is this the man who brought you back to us? As they broke their big girly hug, Skinny, who had sided up next to me for another round of positive reinforcement, said, "Now that's a double dead heat in a zeppelin race if ever I've seen one."

"So, skinny, you are a tit man then"?

No Keith. I'm just a pervert, mate. If it wasn't for Phoebe, I'd probably have cut my wrists by now. She discovered Skinny back when I was Roger. I was a bit of an unhappy man when I was Roger. Phoebe banished the bastard, I'm better now that he's gone for good. Phoebe was a psychiatric nurse. I met her after my second suicide attempt. Skinny laughed; it was the first time I'd seen him even smile. She takes her work home with her, you see.

Alad, look what Tina has for you. It was a jock strap made from rawhide lacing. Let's try it on you. I get to show the world what a lucky bitch I am, and you won't be playing football with your purple helmet.

Peter suggested wetting it before I put it on. Apparently, rawhide stretches when wet and shrinks a little when it dries. Once it had dried, it held me like a finger trap. To be honest, it felt very snug, but not uncomfortably tight. I enjoyed wearing it.

Just as we were pulling out chairs to eat, Duncan turned up with an older lady in tow. Miranda introduced them. This was Katy. Katy and Duncan were an item long before he became Miranda's ponyboy, but they had a falling out. It looked as though his bridge-building had been successful.

"I've come to ask a favour,", said Duncan. Do you know if anyone has a cart we can borrow just for the parade? Katy wants to give it a go for old times sake."

"Does that mean I've been given the old Heave Ho?" Asked Miranda. "I'm sorry, Miranda," said Katy. We shouldn't have asked. Duncan, you must do it with Miranda; I'll watch."

"I've got a better idea. We want to keep things a little low-key until the race this afternoon. How about you two take my sulky?" Duncan knows it well, and it's easy to drive. Go up to the house and talk to Guy, Duncan. Tell him if he doesn't swap the entry name over, there are five witches coming to see him with an elastrator."

"Thanks Miranda "Thank you," said Duncan. Oh, we saw Kevin and Kay in the house paddock. He says he has a little something of yours."

"Phoebe. Look after this lump, will you? I'll be a little while."

"What is it, mistress? Can I help?" I said.

"Yes, you can help by staying here." "I'll be back soon."

I was worried and was about to say something, but I got a look that said, "Button it."

"What's your job, Alad?" Miranda asked.

"To trust you, mistress."

"What are you going to do?"

Stay here with Mistress Phoebe, and trust you, Mistress.

"Good Boy."

"I'll be back soon; don't worry, it's a fun thing, a secret fun thing."

I sat talking to Kevin, Tina's sub. He gave me a couple of tickets for a fetish club he and Tina owned and got me to promise I'd bring Miranda; Susie ran it for them. He was waiting for an operation to fix his knee, so they had just come to watch. I know so many guys from rugby who have had or are having knee replacement surgery.

The guy sounded as though he was a bit of a mechanical genius. He had made a racing Sulky for Tina, but they now had the frustration of not being able to use it.

We worked out we had met in the past; he had been a top hooker for a team who were, at the time, probably the best in Yorkshire. He was in his last season when I was playing Colts rugby for their main rivals. We could not be sure, but we agreed it was unlikely we had actually played against each other.

When Miranda returned, she had a smile from ear to ear. I was beginning to learn that her smiles were not usually a sign of good things coming to me. She wouldn't give me a clue as to what she had bought, but she assured me that this toy wouldn't cause me any pain. Now I was really worried.

The big race was timed to start a1111:000a.m. 14:00. The parade at noon. It was now getting on for 11.00. Katy and Duncan appeared, and the girls went off to get Katy ready to become Duncan's fantasy driving mistress. The sulky isn't the ideal style of cart for this; something where a three-quarter-length coat, a blouse, and a full-length skirt can be worn comfortably is the order of the day. Of course, at a meeting of the Other Pony Club, it's going to tend towards the Coco de Mere rather than the Coco Chanel.

Given this was a last-minute entry and not much planning had gone into it, Katy came out of Phoebe's camper in breathtaking human pony driving attire. My mistress Miranda obviously had a hand in it; the woman was head to toe in latex, but I was puzzled by a guy--I think he was a guy--with pink hair sprinting in and out of Phoebe's van carrying bundles of stuff.

Kevin lived up to his mechanical genius title. Using bits of wood and a pallet we pinched from Guy, the organiser's garage, a few screws, electrical tie wraps, and hairy string, we managed to bodge a bench seat that didn't look like a bodge at all. The pink-haired guy came to Duncan's rescue as well. He came up with a roll of rubberized fabric that would pass for leather at five paces to cover our bench.

At five minutes to twelve Driving Mistress Katy carefully drove Pony-boy Hermes onto their starting position. This is not a race; it's an exercise in close, precise control. Katy is a master of it, and Duncan has years of experience with Katie and Miranda. They tackled the course with some serious application, ending up dropping 7 points out of 100, close to their best score ever. Three points clear of second place to win it. Zac and his wife completely missed a turn and ended up dropping 55 points in their efforts to get back on track.

There was no time for celebration. Tina took control of dressing Miranda, and Kevin set about removing the bodged bench seat and returning our sulky to full racing spec. Peter took the harness Miranda and I had bodged together from the racing harness he had originally made for Duncan, and with a few scraps of leather, a punch, a rivet gin, needles, and thread, he turned something Miranda and I had hacked about, and up until that point I didn't realise how bad it was. He manufactured a very comfortable piece of kit for me to perform my sulky and Mistress towing roll-in.

Miranda and I nearly had our first argument. She wanted me to eat a doorstep sandwich just before the race. She doesn't really understand athlete nutrition. Kevin understood that I needed easily digestible sugars. He pinched a couple of bars of Tina's posh chocolate; it's her addiction, apparently. Much to her disgust, I swallowed them in lumps. Then we went off to the starting gate.

Half an hour later, I was very grateful for the "ponyboys can't talk" rule, as six of us lined up at the start. It meant I could ignore Zac and his false bravado.

Zac and Marieann got away well, but I didn't; I got away dead last! That suited me; I tracked him, picking up places until, surprisingly enough, skinny-boy and Phoebe were the only pair between us. As I went into the last bend of the first lap, I passed Skinny-boy, and as I came out of the last bend, I picked up a step and moved past Zac. He tried to hold me off on the outside, so he had the inside on the next bend. I didn't care; I let him have it. I knew if I got him to try to match the pace I was setting, he wouldn't have it in him to keep it up. Sticking to the outside and one outfit in front, I kept him with me for half a lap. I sensed him beginning to falter. He made a real schoolboy error, and in an attempt to push me even wider, he allowed Skinny and Phoebe to take the inside track.

The real bad news for Zac was that I had another gear. I hit my top speed for the last 500 metres and was halfway home, and all I could hear was Miranda hollering and cheering me on. I started losing speed about 50 metres from home. I think next time I get Kev to get me three bars of Tina's posh chocolate, I will be well over 100 metres clear by then. There was a surprise: Skinny held the inside, Zak was going backwards now, and Skinny and Mistress Phoebe piped Zac and Marieann for second.

I was out on my feet. I had put so much effort into those last 500 metres that I was reaching for theile. I had only ever done that in training. It's a curious sensation to be laughing, sick, and on the edge of passing out all at the same time. I have done it once or twice before after big, hard-fought rugby matches.

Miranda was unbuckling my straps, unclipping my reigns, and removing the bit from my mouth as fast as she could. Are you okay, Keith? Talk to me. "Ponies can't talk, mistress," I said. I could do with some biscuits and a bottle of cheap lemonade, though.

You can poke isotonic energy drinks up your arse. Biscuits and cheap, high-sugar lemonade are the way forward if your blood sugar levels have dropped off the graph.

All she had in the horse box was Diet Coke. Duncan came to the rescue. It wasn't lemonade; it was full-sugar Orangena, along with a packet of Scottish Shortbread Fingers, and Tina willingly donated her last bar of chocolate. That lot lifted my blood sugar off the floor and kept me on my feet.

I need to get my boy rubbed down and settled. Miranda added, "Isn't he beautiful?" People were cheering and clapping. Zac and his posh bitch of a wife were not. He looked daggers at me, and I laughed at him.

Mistress! I begged you to take my hood off. I want him to see me. I want him to see who beats him again.

"Miranda is good enough now."

"No, Mistress, it's not, not until I'm out of this gear." Miranda took my hood off, and Zac choked when he saw it was me. I just gave him and his missus my best working-class yobish grin. He called me a yob years ago when we first crossed swords. I think that's why I despised him so much.

Miranda announced it to the crowd. "I'm going to put him to bed."

"Is he not well?" asked Phoebe.

"Ooh no, he's fine; in fact, he's very good", said Miranda. "I'm going to fuck his brains to mush."