Chapter 8 - The Touring Carriage.

Boots and Penney were cooling down, connected to the "hot walker" in the corral. Earlier that morning she and Penney had been harnessed to the two-seater taking her mistress and her cousin, Anse, on a nice carriage ride along the estate bridle path. It was a beautiful, clear morning, birds were singing, she and Penney in perfect step. The ponies occasionally felt a flick of mistress’ whip on their flanks, a reminder that they were not far out of her thoughts. But, when they began to climb the half way hill the idyllic phase of the buggy ride ceased. Gretchen liked to play a little game pretending that her ponies were not performing as they should and that they needed correcting. It was a fantasy she sometimes engaged in to add spice to the ride. She would verbally berate them, call them "lazy sluts" and commence lashing them smartly with her snake skin buggy whip, one which Boots particularly dreaded. But there you are. This was one of those "pretend" days. Surely, Mistress must have realized that they were climbing a fairly steep hill, Boots reflected, but no matter, the whipping was unrelenting. Boots smiled when she recalled seeing the native boy lying in the bushes, watching them pass. The expression on his face was one of disbelief and awe. The carriage must have been an incredible sight for a callow youth, she reflected. Mistress was in the midst of her affected displeasure with their efforts, lashing their behinds unmercifully, calling them lazy and spoiled. Boots lowered her head as she pumped her mighty legs to increase speed in response to the urging of the whip. When she turned her cocked head to the right, a maneuver she had perfected to help her maintain pace and balance, her keen eyes discovered the all but invisible boy lying prone on the ground, peering at them through the foliage. She made eye contact with the boy’s jet black eyes and was bemused by the expression of amazement spread across his dark, youthful face. She held his eyes for just an instant, but long enough for the beginnings of a smile to form at the corners of her mouth, the bit notwithstanding. Gretchen’s whip suddenly cracked against her right thigh and the sting transformed what had been Boots’ budding smile into an agonized grin. "Some story the native boy has to relate to his chums," she thought. "I wonder if they will believe him or credit it to an overheated fertile imagination." Her groom, Olivia, an attractive young half-breed girl, attended them while they walked. Olivia also supervised the two husky young male slaves who provided the muscle power for the hot walker. Her whip was incentive enough to keep the harnessed males straining to keep the massive vertical pole rotating. Grooms were only authorized to use leather "butt slappers" to compel cooperation on the part of the ponies. They were strictly forbidden to use a whip. Early on in the training phase a groom had struck one of the ponies with a riding whip and had been ordered by Gretchen to take the pony’s place pulling the log, after which she was dismissed. It was an object lesson not soon forgotten by the staff of grooms and hostlers. After they were cooled down, Boots and Penney were led to the stable and given a shower. Then their grooms applied copious quantities of soothing aloe to the welts raised by Gretchen’s cruel whip. In a few days the welts and swelling would disappear and the satin sheen of their legs and hips would once again appear unmarked. Standing tethered in her stall, Boots’ thoughts turned to Jock. She hadn’t seen him for almost a year. He must certainly know that she was now one of Mistress Van Cleef’s pony girls. She wondered what he thought about it. Was he proud of her or was he ashamed that his former love was now a pony, a human animal harnessed to a cart?

Gretchen decided to show off some of her ponies to the estate population. Twelve of the ponies, including Boots, were harnessed in pairs to the estate touring carriage, a large, four-wheeled, wooden vehicle with ornately carved trim all around. Open to the air, its richly upholstered interior was designed to be admired by people of equal and lesser rank than its passengers. Riding within the carriage, Gretchen and Anse faced each other, sitting sedately on overstuffed, plush blue velvet seats. They smiled and waved to the hundreds of peasants and slaves standing alongside the road, jostling each other for an optimal view of the spectacle unfolding before them. High above, perched atop his carpet-covered bench, sat a liveried black coachman who clutched the team’s leather reins in his left and in his right hand caused a silver "circus" whip with a long braided leather lash to curl and snap harmlessly above the heads of the long-legged prancing ponies. The grooms had outdone themselves decorating the ponies for the event. Each pony wore a gold leather headband from which the tail feather of a bird of paradise projected above her head. Their flaxen pigtails hung down to their shoulder blades and had pretty silk bows pinned to the ends. The grooms had learned of a native woman who was a body painter and had hired her to spend hours decorating the twelve nubile bodies with swirling native symbols done in brilliant colors. In addition, she highlighted their nipples with metallic gold dust particles obtained from the mines on the estate. Their harness was painted silver, as were their head restraint straps. They wore black patent leather boots laced to mid-thigh, which Gretchen favored for special occasions, such as this. The effect on the crowd was electric. The people cheered and couldn’t seem to get close enough to them. Jock was among the hundreds who watched the carriage pass. Since he was exceptionally tall, he didn’t need to stand in front of the crowd to get a good view. Boots and Penney were the first pair, leading the team of twelve ponies. When he saw Boots, tears sprang involuntarily to Jock’s eyes. She was more beautiful than he had ever seen her. He marveled at how her physique had changed. She was as shapely as he remembered, but now muscles appeared beneath her tan satin skin. Every part of her was toned and bespoke of a physical training regimen of which he could only speculate. Even her stomach was muscled, its surface rippling like a washboard. Other than their boots and harness, the ponies were completely nude. Their body hardware, especially, created a sensation with the crowd. People nudged each other and spoke in hoarse whispers, yet pointed excitedly at them, making sure their companions did not fail to see the labia rings and chains. "Willie! Willie! Look! See the rings in their teats!" shouted one woman to her husband. "Aye, Peggy. And did you see the rings in their cunts?" The children were particularly excited by the sight of the twelve beautiful, naked women pulling the carriage. Some children broke from the side of the road and ran up to the team attempting to touch them. A few swipes of the coachman’s whip, though, effectively discouraged the more brazen of them. Jock was torn between two emotions. At once he was tremendously proud to think that he had once been the beloved of one of these magnificent creatures. At the same time he was in danger of being overcome with remorse at the realization that he had lost her forever. From his vantage point on the right side of the road, he was able to see the brand on the right hip of each pony. His gut wrenched when he thought of his sweet, vulnerable Boots being branded with a hot iron. He began to sob, causing people to stare at him uncomprehendingly, as he visualized the white hot branding iron searing her flawless, smooth skin. Boots’ expression was inscrutable. She held her head high, her blue eyes fixed straight ahead. In keeping with Anse’ training, the calves and hooves seemed to extend when her powerful legs lifted, bringing the knees above her waist. She was oblivious to the looping whip arcing and snapping overhead, but Jock experienced a sharp pang of embarrassment seeing her having to endure an effeminate, black lackey dressed in a ridiculous costume, cracking a whip over her head to make her trot. The coachman was just for show, but Jock didn’t know that.

Then Jock turned his gaze to the occupants of the carriage. He beheld two singularly beautiful young women, both of whom appeared to be about his age, one of whom was presumably his mistress, Gretchen Van Cleef. Both young women gave the unmistakable impression of being somewhat haughty, but that was to be expected of the privileged class. He wondered which one was Miss Van Cleef and which was her cousin, about whom everybody on the estate had heard. Both of the ladies were elegantly dressed and carried dainty parasols to shade their patrician faces from the brutal tropical sun. They chatted gaily as the lumbering carriage rolled along the narrow road. "Anse! Quickly! Look to your left. Do you see him? My God! What a Brute!" Gretchen was referring to Jock, whose blonde head and broad shoulders stood out above the crowd massed along the road. "Yes, I do see him, dear." replied her cousin. "I wonder if his cock is a match for those shoulders." "Darling, you are incorrigible," laughed Gretchen. She signaled to a mounted security guard riding behind the carriage to come forward in order to speak with him. "There is a tall blonde slave wearing denim back aways on the right side of the road. Find out his name for me and who he is." That was all. It would be done as she commanded. The security man would find out everything there was to know about Jock and report to his mistress. Meanwhile, the ponies trotted along ahead of the gilded carriage bearing their beloved mistress and her cousin. Every one of them was immensely proud to have been selected by her to serve as her pony girl.