W & Little D Ch. 02

Tat licked her lips and then said softly, "For a man, you know a lot about women's orgasms."

"I design machines," I replied, "that are supposed to arouse, tease, or otherwise drive female slaves-- and Mistresses-- wild. I have had to study the subject to become good at what I do."

There was a burst of cheers and applause from the crowd as number nine suddenly lost control of her horse and careened into the center of the area. Her hands were still on the hand grips, but her feet had somehow slipped out of the leather that held them in the stirrups and were practically dragging on the ground. She was groaning loudly and throwing her body forward and back.

As the horses again passed by us, the new leader, number three, also swung into the center and came to a stop groaning out loudly in orgasm. Number seven, meanwhile, continued her measured pace in third place.

By the fifth lap, all of the naked female jockeys were drenched in sweat. Number nine and number three had recovered from their orgasms and were once again in the race. They had avoided being lapped and were slowly working their way back up in the pack.

As the ninth lap began, Tat leaned over to me and said, "Here is where it gets really interesting. Watch what happens when they go past the finish line and start the tenth lap."

As the lead horses approached the finish line for lap nine, I could hear an increase in the noise coming from the vibrators. Then it became deafening as the motors-- and vibrators-- of all fourteen horses were turned to full speed.

Soon the pants, grunts, and screams of the naked jockeys became almost as loud as the noise of the motors. All of the ladies were swaying forward and back or side to side in their saddles as they tried their best to hold off the inevitable massive orgasm. Even number seven looked like she was on her way to a really good orgasm and was trembling visibly as she slowly swayed. Several of the jockeys were barely able to stay on their horses, but all continued the race.

Finn was standing in the very middle of the area attempting to call the race. He was doing a fairly decent job of saying who was in the lead and who was gaining up until the final turn. That's when number three again lost control and swerved into the center screaming out in orgasm. Her cries or her smell or just the fact that she was the definite loser caused three or four more of the naked female jockeys-- including number nine-- to lose control and not finish the race.

Their groans and screams, as well as the shouts of the crowd, nearly drowned out Finn as he declared, "It's number twelve by a nose followed by number seven and then number fourteen."

With the race completed, all of the jockeys let go of their throttles and themselves. They all slowed to a stop swaying or thrashing in the saddle as extreme orgasms overwhelmed each of them. Mixed in with the groans and cries of the jockeys were slightly softer groans from a number of the women present.

"Looks like some of the ladies in the audience really enjoyed the race," I said softly to Tat.

"If you did a trousers check," she replied, "I'm willing to bet more men than women got off watching this."

"I'm not going to take that bet," I replied. Then I added, "I appreciated the race, but my pants are dry."

"Mine would be if I were wearing any," she said, grinning at me. "But then I'm on duty and have seen this race dozens of times."

Finn, meanwhile, had brought the three winners and the loser into the center of the open area. "Our winner receives one hundred pounds," he said loudly as he handed a one hundred pound note to number twelve, the winner. "And the second place receives fifty pounds," he continued as he handed a fifty to number seven. "Third place receives twenty-five pounds," he said more softly as he handed a twenty and a five to number fourteen.

Then he stepped over to number three, who had been brought into the infield by two burly security men who were walking alongside her horse. "And number three, our loser, receives fifty... with a leather paddle."

He held his hand up to his ear for a moment and then said, "We have two tricast winners tonight. That's trifectas for the Yanks with us tonight." He paused and then called out, "Would Master McWilliams and Mistress Barbara please come to the center of the infield?"

A rather plump, middle-aged woman and a somewhat younger, but no less plump man walked into the center to join Finn. As they walked to the center, the security men were tying the losing jockey over a barrel that was supported by four padded legs and had the head of what was obviously supposed to be a donkey. Her feet had been secured to a stout rope that stretched between the front and back legs of the barrel donkey. Her wrists were tied to ropes which stretched under the barrel and attached to the front and back legs on the same side as the stout rope. By the time she was tied in place, she was rather tautly stretched with her ass perfectly displayed for the paddle.

"I guess I'm going to miss out on some of my fun tonight," Finn said as he handed a long, very flexible, black leather paddle to each of the winning bettors.

He helped position the man and the woman so that they were standing on each side of the unfortunate loser and then said, "You will swing alternately until you reach fifty strokes. That will be twenty-five strokes from each of you. Do you understand that?"

Both nodded their heads. Finn stepped back and said to the people at the tables, "And you get to keep count. Is everyone ready? Begin!"

Master McWilliams swung first. The long, flexible paddle bent backward as he brought his arm around. It smacked into number three's ass with a loud, "Thwack!"'

The crowd called out, "One!" as the paddle landed, but number three's screams were much louder than the crowd.

She barely had time to recover before Mistress Barbara's paddle slammed into her ass. The was a loud count of "Two!" and an even louder scream.

Number three pulled against the ropes trying to lift herself off of the barrel donkey, but she was too well restrained. Her bouncing around only ensured that the next slap of the paddle was slightly lower on her ass.

"Three!" yelled out the crowd.

The poor losing jockey no longer screamed or struggled. She collapsed across the painted saddle of the punishment donkey and sobbed loudly as smack after smack reddened her ass and then began to turn it purple. By the time the crowd cried out, "Fifty!" she was only quivering with the blow.

As Master McWilliams and Mistress Barbara stood there panting from their exertion, two security men slowly wheeled the donkey-- and number three-- out of the circle.

Finn stepped into a spotlight and announced, "That concludes our first presentation."

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END OF CHAPTER TWO

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