We’d barely completed a lap before I overtook that one and it was now on to chasing the next. Pete was certainly not letting up with the whip and, although it stung rather than hurt, its constant flick, flick, flick against my buttocks made sure I didn’t let up one iota. As we came around into the home straight I could see not just the pony I was chasing but the one in front of him as well. Pete slashed me across the backside with the whip but I didn’t really need it, my adrenalin was up and I put everything I had into powering on past, just catching the second before I had to cut across so as to make the bend.
Pete let me take a little breather as we came around the bend and into the back straight. I had just taken out three ponies and could afford to get my breath back. My next target was quite a way ahead and, as long as I didn’t let him get any further away, there was plenty of time to catch him. However I could see that I wasn’t the only one knocking out opponents. As well as the three ponies I had accounted for there were others pulled up at the edge of the course. By my count there were six who had dropped out which meant there were only two of us left running. However, when we came around the bend and into the home straight, both Pete and I realised that I had had more than enough of a breather. There was no one in sight. I had let the other pony pull away from me and had quite a bit of catching up to do. Pete had, thank heavens, laid off with the whip but he flicked the reins and I stepped it up a gear.
Even so, it was turning out to be a long haul and it was a full lap before I could, once again, see the other pony in front of me. That spurred me on and, by the time we had completed another lap there was only twenty yards between us. The pony, of course, was, like myself, wearing blinkers and unable to look behind him but his jockey was well aware of how close I was getting and using the whip and reins freely. Pete, on the other hand, was leaving me be, knowing that I didn’t need any more urging. This was what I was racing for. The crowd were going wild, cheering me on and the pony in front was starting to crumble. We came to the curve at the end and I knew it was foolish to overtake him there. Rather I waited until we were on the main straight, in front of the stands, in front of everybody as, with a final push, I charged past him.
God I loved winning; there’s no feeling like it. Pete reined me in but I still trotted the length of the straight before turning round and trotting back again. I knew I looked good, my head held high, lifting my feet, trotting like a real pony. Oh, the cheers from the stands. I was loving every moment of it. As I came back I could see that the pony who had come second was, inevitably, Jed. Once again I had taken his title but as I went past he looked up, our eyes met and he smiled.
I was led back in to the centre circle and, once there, everybody wanted a piece of me. There were quite a few comments about the whip marks on my buttocks and many used them as an excuse to cop a feel. Not that I minded; the whipping had been more for show than anything else and if the few, fast fading marks added to my desirability then it was all part of the adulation. As they were also tucking quite a bit in tips into my harness it was all to the good. Pete refitted my hobble and closed my blinkers but I quite liked that. It’s easier to stand there with hands all over you when you’re locked in position. I also seemed to be immune from the ad hoc races that were being organised.
“…and this, Sam, is the pony in question,” I heard Mr. Mason say suddenly close. I couldn’t see but I could sense the rest of the crowd pulling back a step. If Mr. Mason and his friend wanted to look me over then it seemed they took precedence.
“May I?” someone, presumably Sam Hastings, asked.
“Be my guest.”
I felt the straps around my penis being undone and firm fingers gripped my erection.
“He certainly seems quite eager.” The fingers were now pumping me and my prick felt as if it would explode.
“Oh, I think you’ll find he’s very eager,” Mr. Mason replied.
“I can hardly wait. Now, you said I could try taking him for a ride.”
“Certainly. Pete, would you get College Boy ready for Mr. Hastings?”
This was a turn up for the books; the first time I had heard of a punter being allowed to drive a pony. Mr Hastings must have real clout. I felt the sulky behind me give a jerk, one more cumbersome than when Pete got on, and then I felt the straps holding my prick being refastened and my hobble being removed. Almost immediately I felt a massive tug on the reins which made my head jerk back and the bit dig into the side of my mouth. Although the bit acted as a sort of gag it couldn’t suppress the cry of half surprise, half pain that this forced out of me.
“Easy, Mr. Hastings,” Pete called out. “Softly, softly, that’s the way with ponies. Now, let me walk him round for you.”
Pete took hold of the reins just by the end of my bit and, still blindfolded by the blinkers, he led me forward. Seeing as how this Mr Hastings had such clout it was up to me to put on the best show I could. I made sure I stood up straight and made myself look as good as possible. All around I could hear the hustle and bustle of the centre circle and the excitement of a race in progress. However, I could feel from the way that Mr. Hastings was pulling on the reins that this was not enough for him. He really wanted to have me run and, in the end, that was what happened.
I guess Mr. Mason must have organised it because they waited until the current race was over and then Pete led me to the entry to the course proper and opened up my blinkers.
“One lap, not too fast and, for heaven’s sake, don’t tip him over,” he whispered in my ear. He let go of my bridle and, with a flick of the reins, Mr. Hastings urged me out onto the course. He was a lot heavier and clumsier than Pete so I jogged rather than ran around the course but, even so, judging by the way he was jiggling the reined, Mr. Hastings was loving every second. I just wished that he wouldn’t pull quite so hard; at least he didn’t have a whip. I was also glad it was just the one lap before I could return to the centre circle where Mr. Hastings dismounted and Pete parked me up again.
After that Mr. Hastings disappeared with Mr. Mason and, for all that he had stroked my prick and I had run him around the course, I still hadn’t set eyes on him. Indeed, apart from the fact that he was heavy, a little clumsy with the reins and seemed to enjoy being pulled around the course I knew next to nothing about him.
However, I didn’t have too much time to wonder. With Mr Hastings out of the way I was called upon for three of the ad hoc races and, on each occasion, they were handicapped. I managed to win two of them but came second in the middle one, much to Mr H’s delight.
Eventually the racing was all over and, as the punters drifted off, we ponies were sent to the showers to get ready for the party. I could feel the tension within me rising. I was evidently going to have to entertain Mr. Hastings and, as yet, I knew nothing of his likes and dislikes. Although I should have been getting used to this I was increasingly apprehensive; Perhaps I was apprehensive because I was getting used to it. Still, there was absolutely nothing I could do to get out of it and it was in my best interests to make myself as agreeable as possible. It was time, once again, to become the randy little tart.