Posted by Kewpid on January 05, 20011 at 13:09:50:
Gemma had always liked working with horses, but she’d signed up for the summer job from Hell. On paper it had seemed ideal – helping out at Lark Hall stables, with the prospect of a ride from time to time. The problem was that Stephanie, the owner’s pampered daughter, had turned out to be a spiteful little bitch.
The two of them had known at once they wouldn’t hit it off. Gemma was an Essex girl, a smart and mouthy blonde. Her wide green eyes and dimpled grin expressed her sense of mischief, and she had a pair of tits that made her proud. Stephanie, by contrast, was a rich Home Counties redhead who believed a stable girl should know her place. She had skin like porcelain, eyes cool as sapphires and a nose tipped up in permanent disdain. The day they’d met, Gemma asked her what her previous slave had died of – a jibe which would have got her fired if Stephanie had deigned to rise to it.
Instead, the posh girl made her life as hard as possible, an endless slog of scrubbing floors and cleaning out the stalls. Today she had the job of lugging hay bales from the pickup while Stephanie and her friends went for a ride around the park. The day was hot and the blonde girl was soon sweating in her sleeveless tee-shirt and tight-fitting jeans. Her mane of flaxen hair was tied back in a ponytail, but strands of hay were caught in it. She dumped another bale and wiped her brow.
She didn’t realise someone else had come into the yard until she turned and found him standing by the truck. She jumped, then forced a smile – the guy looked rough but rather dishy – and quelled a flutter of unease. “Yeah? Can I help?” she asked.
“Are you the stable hand?” he asked. She nodded. “Can you ride?” Again she nodded, frowning now. “That’s lucky,” he continued, “or else I would have had to kill you now.”
He drew a switchblade as he spoke. She flinched as it sprang open and stared at it with saucer eyes, her bosom heaving under her taut top. She started backing off and he prowled forward with a gaze that mesmerised her like a snake’s. The knifepoint pricked her left breast and she whimpered. “Get your kit off, bitch,” he breathed, “and let’s wait for your posh friends to get back.”
They’re not my friends, she almost sobbed, but knew it wouldn’t help her. She peeled her clothes off, quivering. At least he let her keep her knickers on. Other men had come into the yard. Her cheeks blushed hotly. She liked attracting guys, of course, but not a leering audience like this lot.
He turned her round and slapped her bottom. “Get some boots. You’ll need them.” Biting her lip, she went inside. He followed, breathing hotly down her neck. As she squeezed her feet into a pair of calf-high riding boots, they heard the crunch of hoofs against the drive outside.
By the time that Stephanie had walked her horse round to the yard there was nobody in sight. She saw the half-unloaded truck. “God,” she pouted, “can’t that trollop finish what she’s started?” Annoyed she swung down from her saddle, breeches straining round her shapely arse. Her three friends followed and dismounted with her, their poise and self-possession clearly learned at private school. Rachel had a coy smile and a mass of russet curls, while Katy had a sultry look: Home Counties with a hint of Portuguese. Sarah was a sporty blonde, her long hair plaited primly. She stroked her pony’s gleaming coat, already looking forward to her shower.
There was no sign of the stable girl. The four young ladies waited. “Perhaps she’s gone off for a smoke,” said Stephanie with thinly-veiled pique. Katy smirked. “Or else she’s being rogered by the gardener.” Stephanie had told them what a slut the blonde girl was.
Their snarky smiles congealed a moment later, as the men emerged from cover all around. The horses caught the sudden chill of fear, becoming skittish, and the girls clung to their bridles nervously. Some of the men had knives. One held a wicked-looking pitchfork. Stephanie’s eyes widened but she tried to face the would-be robbers down.
“You’d better leave,” she hissed, with just a quaver in her voice. “We’ve got no money with us and I don’t care who you are.”
“Of course you don’t, you stuck-up cunt,” one of the men said flatly. “We’re just the common herd to you, but now we’re going to have a bit of fun.” Stephanie just started at him. Her pale cheeks had turned pasty. The other girls were cringing at the horrid word he’d used. Their faces fell still further as they caught a glimpse of Gemma being tugged out by her ponytail, her hands pressed helplessly to her large breasts.
The pitchfork jabbed towards them and they cowered. “Get undressed,” its owner said, “or else we’ll cut the clothes off you ourselves.” Snivelling, the rich girls stripped down to their classy panties, trying vainly to conceal their nipples as the gloating ruffians looked on. “Get your riding boots back on,” the first man told them curtly. “You’ve rode in competition, girls? You won’t have seen a race like this before.”
A man slapped Gemma’s hands clear of her bosom. “Don’t cover them,” he growled, “unless you want to piss me off.” She grimaced, trying not to cry as he ogled her sleek body, but as she turned her face away, she saw something which made her gasp aloud.
The men were slinging quivers from their shoulders. The sheaves of arrows looked like bright bouquets. One picked up a bow and tugged the string to gauge its tension. Then her captor jerked her hair and hauled her over to a saddled horse.
Sick with fear, she clambered up astride it, not feeling any safer as she looked down on the yard. She gathered up the reins and hunched her shoulders. The man she had been watching nocked an arrow to his bow.
The other girls were mounting up beside her. Stephanie looked so crestfallen that Gemma felt a pang of sympathy. But the redhead’s glance was positively hateful, as if she blamed the stable girl for this. Sarah gripped her reins like a beginner, while Katy pouted tearfully and Rachel begged for mercy with her eyes. All five of them were hyperventilating, their bare tits swelling with each jerky breath. The ponies sensed their terror and it spooked them. Gemma felt hers shift and squeezed it briefly with her thighs.
“All right, ladies,” said the leading archer. “I guess you know the tower on the far side of the park. You can head straight through the woods for it or try an easier route, but the first of you to get there wins the race.”
The mounted girls exchanged uncertain glances. The man smiled as he eyed their heaving breasts. “Don’t ride the other way or you’ll be sorry. And if you lose your mount, of course, you’ll be eliminated from the race.” The way he said that made the girl’s eyes widen. “And ladies, one more thing,” he said. “Remember that there ain’t no second prize.”
“Please,” whined Gemma, hating how she sounded. “This isn’t fair. I’m just the stable girl.”
“You’ve all got the same chance,” he sneered. “I bet you’ve always wanted to be equal to the girls who boss you round.” Gemma sniffed and clutched her reins, not daring to glance sideways. The man was looking at his watch. “Get ready, ladies … Three, two, one and [i]off[/i]!”
A moment’s panicked pause and then the horses jostled forward as the frightened girls began to urge them on. Rachel was first out of the yard and broke into a canter. The others followed in a rush, hoofs scuffing as they crossed the gravel drive. Gemma glimpsed the tower on the horizon: an old Victorian folly that she’d never visited. Several miles of parkland lay between it and the stables. There were undulations, woods, even a river in their path. The mounts were running now, still bunched together. She felt the chafing of the saddle through her skimpy briefs.
Behind them as they crossed the field, the men were mounting quad bikes and beginning an exuberant pursuit. The leader made a quick call on his mobile. “Get ready, mate,” he said. “They’re on their way.”
The girls rode on, hair streaming and breasts bouncing. Above the snorting of her pony, Gemma heard the sobs of her own breath. She wasn’t use to riding hell-for-leather. The world was racing by too fast and she almost grabbed the pommel to hang on. The ground sloped down towards a patch of woodland. She tugged the reins to slow the horse, sensing Stephanie move up to overtake.
Suddenly a hand was clutching at her ponytail. It yanked her head back and she yelped. “Goodbye, you bloody bitch,” hissed Stephanie. Gemma freed one hand and clawed behind her, her buttocks slipping off the saddle pad. Stephanie lost her grip and kicked her mount clear but Gemma lost her balance, sliding halfway off the horse. For a moment she was sure that she was falling and panic seized her by the throat, but then she hauled herself back up again. Her horse had slowed and the others were ahead now. She glimpsed the flawless skin of Stephanie’s receding back.
“You fucking cow!” she spat and dug her heels in, a surge of fury blotting out her fear. The pony galloped on into the tree line and she steered it down a trampled bridle path.
The other girls were jostling for position, their rivalry in deadly earnest now. Rachel saw a gap, squeezed through and took the lead again, not really sure where she was headed, knowing only that they were pursued. Her buttocks in her white silk briefs were getting sore already and her perky breasts bobbed heavily. She shook her tangled hair out of her eyes. Glancing back, she saw that Stephanie had almost caught her. Resentment made her mouth go sour. A hostess ought to sacrifice herself!
They broke into a clearing, sunlight spilling over them, and Stephanie drew level – then she swung her pony hard against her friend’s. Rachel squealed a disbelieving protest, then whinnied as her own mount stumbled. Frantically she clung on to the reins. The pony plunged and flipped her from the saddle. Her stomach turned a somersault and then the air was smashed out of her lungs.
Sarah and Katy glimpsed her fall but neither thought to help her. They pounded after Stephanie and left the stunned girl crumpled in the grass. Gemma followed a few moments later, just missing Rachel’s pony as it scrambled up again. The desperate thudding of her hoofbeats faded, and only then did Rachel raise herself.
She’d never had a spill like this. Her bowed head was still throbbing and her ribcage ached with every wheezy breath. Her pendulous breasts were smeared with dirt. She peered down at them dully. Her pony snickered, somewhere close. She turned to look and gave a gasp of fright.
A grim-faced man was standing in the clearing, between her the calmly grazing horse. As she stared, he slowly drew the bow that he was holding. “Sorry, girl,” he said, “I guess that’s you out of the race.”
Rachel’s wide eyes filled with tears. “Oh, no,” she bleated hoarsely. Her pleading seemed to give him pause. He watched the tears spill down her pretty cheeks. Then he loosed the arrow at a spot above her cleavage. It struck her with a hollow thunk. “I never did like cry-babies,” he said.
Rachel reared back with a wail of anguish, then groaned and clutched her bosom in despair. Her tearstained face contorted as the sharp point did its business – to kill its hapless victim painfully. Flopping back, she writhed with one last gurgle, then slumped as she ran out of breath. Her upturned tits deflated as she sagged.
Oblivious to her fate, the other riders pelted onwards, their bottoms bouncing off the saddles and their bare breasts swaying fetchingly. Stephanie glanced back over her shoulder and showed her teeth in an exultant grin. She bent over her pony’s neck and wished she had a horsewhip, not just to urge her mount on but to hit the others if they got too close.
Sarah and Katy were several lengths behind her, ducking branches as they galloped through the wood. The track forked up ahead and Stephanie took the left turning, but Katy chose the right hand path in the hope that she could get ahead of her. Sarah felt a plunge of indecision and tugged the reins to pull her pony up.
Gasping, she sat back and looked around her. There was no sign of the stable girl. Perhaps the slut had been unseated too. She wondered what had happened to poor Rachel but was more concerned with saving her own skin.
She shifted with discomfort in her saddle. Her arse hurt and her briefs were soaked with sweat. The wood was quiet, a maze of dappled sunlight. The men might be pursuing but they hadn’t caught up yet. She realised she could veer off now and use the trees for cover while she headed for the edge of the estate. The park was bounded by a wall, but she could get across it if she climbed up from her saddle. They would never catch her then.
She bent and rubbed her pony’s neck, her wide blue eyes still shifting. The man had warned them not to try and ride the other way. But Sarah was the kind of girl who bridled like a filly if an older person told her what to do. Of course he’d had to threaten them – the wall must be unguarded. She hadn’t been her school’s Head Girl without using her brains occasionally.
Her nipples brushed the horse’s mane. She straightened, her heart racing, then steered her pony off the path and urged it down the slope. She reached another track some minutes later, and kicked her mount into a canter, heading for the far side of the park.
She didn’t see the length of cord stretched taut across the path until it caught her just below the collarbones. She arched back with a winded grunt and the horse slid from beneath her and went pounding on along the track while Sarah tumbled whooping in its wake.
Like Rachel, she lay stunned at first as the thud of hoofs receded. The birds kept singing in the trees. The blonde girl groaned and raised her tearful face. “Fuck,” she murmured, pouting with self-pity and pushed herself up on her knees. The pain of her bruised body made her wince. But then she heard a rustling noise behind her and a dry snap like a stepped-on twig. She looked over her shoulder, terrified.
There was no-one to be seen, just looming trees and undergrowth. Whimpering, still short of breath, she clambered to her feet. The spoilt child in her was just about to burst out crying, but another part – the Head Girl part – insisted that she get her arse in gear. She stumbled forward, groping through the tree trunks. The sound of displaced foliage came again. She glanced back, glimpsed a movement and flailed onward, her face contorted miserably. And then the archer shot her in the back.
She heard the sickening thump as well as felt it. The impact made her arch her spine, a disbelieving gurgle in her throat. She stuck her tits out helplessly, the prim Head Girl no longer, but her winsome face looked scandalised, as if someone had merely pinched her arse.
Then a flood of pain went through her body. She groaned and tried to stagger on, oblivious to the feet that followed her. The agony was crippling. She slumped against a tree and vainly clutched at it, still trying to fill her lungs. But the arrow in her back was unforgiving. She died as wretchedly as Rachel, mouth agape as she slid down the trunk.
Stephanie, meanwhile, had reached the river which meandered down the far side of the woods. She reined in at the tree line, peering round her, but the others must be well behind. It seemed she had the whole park to herself. Her pony dipped its head and drank. She slapped its shoulder idly. Her naked skin was slick with sweat and the river’s coolness seemed to beckon her.
Beyond it lay a meadow, long grass rippling in the sunlight. The tower was only half a mile away. No question, she was going to win. Her snooty features softened as determination gave way to relief. Tossing back her auburn hair, she pulled her pony’s head up, but as she urged it to wade in, she heard a crashing in the undergrowth. Startled, she looked round. The noise was coming from her left. Next moment Gemma came in sight. She’d reached the river by another path.
The stable girl seemed as nonplussed as she was. The two of them exchanged a glare; then Stephanie pushed on for the far bank. Gemma felt her anger coming to the boil again. She’d ridden on a breakneck detour, hoping to outflank the red-haired bitch. Kicking her pony’s flanks, she splashed into the placid water. Stephanie glanced back at her with venomous blue eyes.
As Gemma caught her up, the haughty redhead tried to hit her. Gemma fended off the blow, then lunged to grab a fistful of her hair. Stephanie was yanked back, squealing, but she clutched at Gemma. Still grappling, they slid from their saddles, splashing down together in mid-stream.
For a moment they just floundered as their horses churned the water. Coughing, Gemma found her feet. The water was waist deep. Shaking back her sopping hair she turned on Stephanie as the other girl came sloshing in, her painted nails like claws. “Bitch!” the redhead spat and pounced, but Gemma blocked her onslaught. They fought like two bedraggled cats as the ponies waded clear.
The race and all its terrors were forgotten as Stephanie pulled Gemma’s hair and the stable girl clawed fiercely at her breasts. At each other’s throats in their wet knickers, they didn’t know they’d gained an audience till a man’s voice interrupted them.
“Excuse me? Ladies …?”
For a moment they just gaped at one another – then reared apart as if he’d jabbed them with a cattle prod. Swinging round, they saw the figures watching from the bank. Gemma’s mouth fell open and she tried to cower behind the other girl. Stephanie was pouting like a disappointed schoolgirl who had seen her prize being snatched away. She clapped her hands against her heaving breasts.
Her primness peeved one of the watching archers. He loosed an arrow at her belly, penetrating it with a dull thud. Stephanie gasped, then groaned and doubled forward, uncovering her breasts as she clasped vainly at the wound. Gemma sobbed and clutched her shoulder, trying to support her, her hatred of the girl forgotten now. Stephanie wailed brokenly as pain tore through her tummy. The sound made Gemma’s hackles rise. She turned her pleading gaze towards the men.
One of them was taking aim towards her. She recognised the man who’d told her not to hide her tits. As terror gripped her throat, she stuck her bosom out towards him. Whatever happened to her next, she didn’t want an arrow in the guts.
She saw him smile and then his arrow punctured her right breast. She jerked back with a startled gasp, releasing Stephanie. But hope of a less painful death turned out to be forlorn. A surge of anguish made her scream and clutch at both her tits convulsively.
She twisted round, her face a mask of horror, unable to believe in her own fate. It wasn’t fair – just like she’d told the archers. But arrows did the same cruel job on snobs and stable girls.
Sighing in submission, she flopped forward and let the river take her weight while Stephanie kept squirming miserably. The redhead mewled with agony and nausea. She slumped down as her knees gave way and the clear water swirled towards her chin. “Please …” she bleated to the watching archers, but they just watched implacably. Her hair was floating round her face like weed. A throb of pain convulsed her and she slid below the surface. Her pale form wriggled frantically as water flowed into her nose and mouth.
Stephanie’s last moments were a nightmare – her belly burning and her lungs engulfed. She thrashed and writhed until her heart stopped beating, then rose like flotsam as her struggles ceased. Her smooth back broke the surface close to Gemma’s face-down body. The dead pair floated languidly as fish began to nibble at their breasts.
Katy didn’t know she was the last one in the race. The right hand path had petered out and she’d doubled back, disorienting herself. The thought of losing – and being murdered – made her wheeze with panic. Despite her sultry looks, she was as timid as a deer.
She cast around the rustling wood, then crossed another track which seemed to lead off in the right direction. Fearfully she urged her pony on. Her dark hair flowed behind her and her heavy bosom joggled. The others could have gone astray. She might still have a chance.
At last she broke out of the woods and saw the lonely tower. A stab of hope went through her and she heeled the pony to a faster pace. Then, above its steady pants, she heard a snarling engine. Glancing back, she saw a quad bike coming after her. Katy’s doe eyes widened and her heart began to hammer. Her silk-clad arse rose off the saddle as she whipped the pony with its reins. It galloped on, but the tower seemed no closer, and now a second bike appeared and made to cut her off. Whimpering – this wasn’t fair! – she raced towards the folly. She had no choice but to believe they’d sheer off once she had reached its steps.
One of the quad bikers loosed an arrow. It sailed towards her, speeding up and streaked over the pony’s hindquarters. Katy looked back with a sob and tried to ride in zigzags. The quad bikes were converging, bouncing over the rough ground.
She was almost at the tower when her pony lost its footing, or perhaps another arrow had struck home. It ploughed into the turf and send her flying. She landed awkwardly and rolled, her breath forced from her in a guttural groan. Her terror got her up again. She staggered onward, wheezing. The tower loomed against the sky. Its heavy wooden door looked firmly shut.
Stumbling in her ankle boots, she reached the steps and climbed them. An arrow whickered past her ear and thunked into the door. Horrified, she glanced over her shoulder. The bikes were bearing down on her like vicious, growling dogs. She seized the iron door handle and turned it, her gym-toned biceps bulging with the strain. The mechanism seemed rusted stiff. She struggled with it, sobbing, until she felt the latch give way and the door swung open, letting her barge through.
Too late she glimpsed the figure in the doorway and the wicked pitchfork he had brought with him. She ran on to the levelled prongs and gasped as they impaled her. The jolt was like a solid punch below her diaphragm. Her mouth stayed open in an O as she floundered to a standstill, her upper body bending forward, proffering her boobs.
“Congratulations, girl,” the man’s voice mocked her. “You won the race and this is the first prize.”
He jerked the fork and Katy whinnied shrilly. Her midriff had gone numb but she could feel the points sink deep. The crotch of her silk briefs grew soggy as she started peeing. Aghast, she made a mewing sound and clutched the pitchfork’s shaft.
The man just leered and jabbed the tines in deeper. Pain boiled through her body and she shrieked despairingly. In vain she flailed and wriggled like a stuck pig on the threshold, until a spasm threw back her head, a froth of scarlet flying from her mouth.
He held her upright till her limbs stopped twitching, then lowered her almost gently to the ground. Katy’s grimace had relaxed and she looked merely sulky. Her eyelids didn’t flicker as he jerked the bloody prongs out of her flesh.
The other men had
rounded up the ponies and were leading them towards the silent tower.
The riders were now slung over the saddles, their heads bowed and their
slim limbs dangling. Gemma hung alongside Rachel, Stephanie and Sarah,
four girls united by a common fate. Their panties stretched across their
upturned arses. The sunlight glistening on their bare backs.