Hot Pursuit (17 page)

Anne was still pondering that remark when Lucy reached for her.

‘We need to do this very quickly,' she hissed again. ‘We don't have a lot of time.'

Her voice was lowered, as though she was apprehensive of being overheard, and that subtle inflection added to Anne's mood of daring. She released a husky giggle and was shocked by her own easy surrender to the moment. ‘Very quickly works fine for me,' she whispered. Her meek gaze caught Lucy's appreciative smile and the air became suddenly thick with tension.

Lucy unfastened the buttons of Anne's blouse to reveal the white of her bra.

Glancing down at herself Anne noticed her breasts were swollen with excitement. The plump flesh looked tanned and healthy against the stark cotton underwear. The dark circles of her areolae were stains beneath the fabric, made more noticeable by the distortion of her stiff nipples. As it always seemed to do when she was with Lucy, the arousal came quick and strong. Her heartbeat accelerated and her respiration deepened. The palms of her hands were suddenly slick with a film of greasy sweat. Anxious to defer the pleasure, sure it made more sense to enjoy the woman's company rather than simply submit to her charms, Anne tore her gaze away from her lover and studied their surroundings.

The walls were fashioned from local granite and the dirt floor was sparsely carpeted with hay and straw. Light came in dusty bars of gold through the slatted gaps in the wooden doors. Taking in the bleak interior, and not letting her memories return to the excitement of her visit to an identical building in the central baronial hall, Anne asked, ‘What is this place?'

Lucy glanced around and grunted her disinterest. ‘It's a stable.'

Anne shook her head. ‘I can see it's a stable,' she said testily. ‘But what's it used for? Do all these baronial halls have stables without horses? Is it a prestige thing? Or am I just missing the obvious?'

Lucy helped her slip the blouse from her shoulders before starting to remove her skirt. Her impatient fingers worked deftly to release the buttons and zipper and Anne could sense the urgency that lingered beneath the woman's touch. Lucy's apparent eagerness was enough to make her tremble but she suppressed the shiver in an attempt to hide her desire. ‘It doesn't make sense to have stables without horses. Why would so many people do something so peculiar? What's going on here?'

‘Do you have any more questions?' Lucy asked dryly. ‘Or have you reached your million-and-one quota for the day?'

‘I was only asking,' Anne mumbled.

Lucy kissed her cheek to show that the remark hadn't been intended to upset and then allowed Anne to step out of the skirt. The cool, morning air caressed her upper thighs and made her flesh seem infinitely more sensitive. No longer able to ignore the voracious demands of her need, she realised her pulse was now beating at a furious pace and its echoes trembled through her delicate frame. Gooseflesh prickled on her forearms and made the hairs at the back of her neck bristle.

‘Technically,' Lucy began, T suppose this isn't really a stable. It's a tack room. To the best of my knowledge all the halls have stables. But I don't think any of the masters keep horses.'

Anne tried to concentrate on the statement as Lucy stripped the clothes from her body but the distraction made it difficult. When she finally worked out what Lucy had told her, she shook her head, genuinely
puzzled, and said, ‘Aside from the words, that made perfect sense. Why would anyone have stables and a tack room if they weren't going to have horses?'

Lucy rolled her eyes. ‘They maintain stables so they have somewhere to put the naughty girls who ask too many questions.'

Anne made a face and waited until Lucy grinned before repeating her question. ‘I'm serious,' she explained. ‘I'd really like to know why all these halls have stables without horses. What is it that I'm missing?'

Lucy was behind her and teasing apart the clasp on Anne's bra when she replied. Her knuckles brushed against bare flesh and a crackle of electric excitement shocked them both. The air had been taut with anticipation before but now it was thick enough to make every breath an effort. Lucy placed her lips close to Anne's ear, kissed her lightly on the neck, and whispered, ‘Have you ever heard of pony-girls?'

She breathed the sentence with a peculiar emphasis and Anne felt queasy when she realised why the tone seemed familiar. Lucy spoke with the same sultry promise of excitement that she had used to introduce the word
wetplay
. Forcing herself not to give in to the compulsion of her desire, she willed the arousal from her thoughts and asked, ‘Are the pony-girls a pop band?'

Lucy laughed as she eased the bra straps from Anne's shoulders. The cups fell away from her breasts but, rather than modestly covering herself, Anne was happy to exhibit her semi-nudity. She adored the honest lechery with which Lucy always appraised her and the glint in her new friend's eyes always made Anne feel special and wanted. The puckered flesh of her areolae had smoothed and turned dark pink. Her nipples stood long, proud and hard.

Lucy slid her fingertips beneath the waistband of Anne's panties and, without letting her caress linger, she pulled them down. Offering a hand, assisting Anne as she stepped daintily out of the underwear, Lucy said, ‘The pony-girls aren't a pop band.' She paused for a beat, then added, ‘Nor is it a name for a collection of girls who all wear their hair in ponytails.'

Anne gaped, amazed that Lucy had guessed her next suggestion.

She allowed herself to be led in silence to a row of wooden shelves that housed bridles, saddles, halters and reins. Mystified, she studied the assembly of leather, steel and polished brass. She was unable to reconcile the purpose of the peculiar restraints and convinced they wouldn't be large enough to use even if the stables did have horses. But, at the same time, she was curiously excited by something the collection seemed to suggest. She guessed the equipment had something to do with Lucy's blithe references to pony-girls but the details of that connection remained infuriatingly elusive. Not sure what to make of all the gear, she waited for the brunette to explain rather than embarrass herself by making another incorrect assumption.

Lucy placed an arm around her waist.

The simple contact almost made Anne melt. She chewed her lower lip, held every muscle rigid, and struggled to feign interest in the stylised tackle.

Sliding herself closer, allowing the soft leather of her coat to brush Anne's bare body, Lucy confided, ‘I want to get you kitted out to pull a covered buggy.'

Anne nodded sagely. ‘That's just what I was thinking.'

From the corner of her eye she saw Lucy was grinning at her and she blushed when she realised her
attempts to feign understanding had been spotted as a pretence. ‘I was thinking that,' she insisted. ‘I was thinking those exact words.'

‘You're a bullshit artist,' Lucy chided gently.

‘No!' Anne protested. ‘I was really thinking that I needed kittens to pull a buggered covey . . .' She frowned, aware that her own words made less sense than whatever it was that Lucy had said, but not knowing how to back-pedal further. ‘I'm not a bullshit artist,' she pouted.

‘You bloody are.' Lucy laughed. Grabbing her by the arms, pressing her body close, she smothered Anne's mouth with a deep and penetrating kiss. The embrace overwhelmed them and, as they swirled together, it seemed inevitable that they would eventually fall to the floor. The carpet of hay cushioned their brisk descent, and the padding of Lucy's long leather coat softened the landing.

Anne caught herself grinning at Lucy, revelling in the thrill of their near-naked embrace and casual intimacy. Of all the lessons she had learnt over the past few days all the delicious pleasures of submission, humiliation and perversion the discovery of her feelings for Lucy remained the most memorable. A leg pressed against her sex, the thigh gliding softly over her sticky pussy lips. One bare breast was chilled then warmed as it rubbed against the ring that penetrated Lucy's nipple. They each bent to the other and joined their mouths in another rich and promising kiss. It was a union of intertwining tongues and snatched, urgent breaths. Lucy caressed Anne's breasts and hips in a tawdry exploration of lust.

‘I'm not a bullshit artist,' Anne insisted when they finally moved their lips apart. ‘You have no right calling me that. That's not fair.'

‘Then what should I call you?' Lucy asked.

Anne shrugged. The subtle movement meant her body writhed against Lucy's and the benefits of that casual contact excited the insatiable need between her legs. ‘What do you want to call me?' she returned. ‘Why don't you suggest something?'

‘A dirty bitch?'

Even though the insult excited her, Anne frowned.

‘A dirty bitch who got off on pissing in the last stable she visited?'

‘Lucy!'

‘A dirty bitch who got off on pissing while she was watched by a stranger.'

‘How can you say that?'

‘Because it's true.'

Instead of the anger or outrage she knew she should have exhibited, Anne could only feel a rush of affection for the woman in her arms. Her thigh slipped against Lucy's sex and she was elated by the sensation of the pierced pussy lips touching her flesh. The yearning in her groin became more demanding.

‘It turned you on, didn't it?' Lucy asked softly.

Anne wanted to feign ignorance, or fake a refusal, but she could see no point. Unashamed, she nodded. ‘Yes,' she agreed. ‘It turned me on big time.'

‘Want to do it again?'

Her cheeks burnt crimson as she remembered the excitement of that moment and the pleasure that had come afterwards when she and Lucy were alone in a motel shower. ‘Yes,' she agreed. ‘I'd love to do it again.' Then, worried that her eagerness might look unseemly, she added, ‘But not the wetplay thing. Maybe we could do something different this time?'

Lucy nodded agreement. ‘What do you want to do this time?'

‘I thought you said we were in a hurry?'

Lucy broke their embrace to prop herself on an
elbow. With her free hand she teased light caresses against Anne's bare breasts. ‘I just said we were in a hurry so you wouldn't object when I took off your clothes,' she confessed. Seeming oblivious to the amazement that widened Anne's eyes, she asked, ‘So, what do you want to do? Did you have something particular in mind?'

It was almost impossible to think past the knowledge that Lucy's body was pressed against hers. The magic from her fingertips sparked fresh bolts of longing with every touch and Anne knew the idea of making any decision was beyond her. ‘You're the one with the ability,' she deferred. ‘You're the one with the gift. You're the one who can read people's most secret desires. Why don't you tell me what I want?'

Lucy regarded her in silence. Her brow furrowed with concentration and her full lips turned pale and thin. It was only a momentary upset to her otherwise striking looks. Her forehead soon smoothed and her mouth returned to its former ripe glory when she grinned with obvious understanding. The wicked glee of her laughter echoed around the stables.

‘I was right when I called you a dirty bitch.'

Anne laughed nervously, not sure if Lucy was teasing, or had genuinely picked up on some unsuspected and perverted facet from within her make-up. The idea that she might be on the verge of making another discovery about her own dark appetites was both disquieting and intoxicating. ‘What are you talking about?' she asked hesitantly. ‘What is it that I want? And is it really so bad that it does make me a dirty bitch?'

Rather than replying, Lucy went to the wall of the tack room and retrieved a tangle of leather and steel.

Anne regarded the harness uneasily but made no objection when Lucy helped her from the floor and
started to secure the straps around her torso. The metal was shockingly cold and the leather felt unnaturally stiff against her pliant skin. ‘Is this really what I'm wanting?' she whispered doubtfully.

‘I don't think the details of this one have crossed your mind yet,' Lucy admitted. ‘But I know you'll get a kick out of it.'

It was little in the way of reassurance and, if the words had come from anyone else, Anne would have made her scepticism loud and apparent. But because Lucy had been right about everything else so far, and because her suggestive tone made Anne want to believe, she didn't hesitate to put her trust in the woman. She craned her neck to glance down and watched the twin bars being fitted across her breasts. Surprised, she winced when her fat nipples were pinched between the cold lengths of steel. It was instinctive for her to try and back away from the pain but, with the leather restraining straps secure around her back, the discomfort wouldn't abate. A prickle of anxiety sharpened the edge of her appreciation.

‘What is this?'

Lucy had returned to the tack shelves and she came back with a bit and bridle. ‘You're going to be my pony-girl today,' she said cheerfully.

The words struck Anne with a hot thrill of excitement. She still didn't understand what Lucy meant by a pony-girl, but she was beginning to think it would certainly be as satisfying as the wetplay. No longer needing to ask any questions, investing her trust entirely in Lucy's knowledge and experience, she allowed the bit to be placed in her mouth and let the first set of reins fall down her back.

The harness was a despicably inventive piece of equipment. Aside from the bars that trapped her nipples, the leather straps slipped between her legs
and pressed taut against her crotch. Anne hadn't dared to move since Lucy started to secure the belts and buckles but she knew every step was likely to spark the most infuriating friction. She held her breath, anxious to feel the leather rubbing insidiously against her cleft but loathe to be seen as too eager. Some sly intuition suggested the straps would tease at the split of her sex like impatient fingers and Anne was torn by a need to experience that sensation. She was vacillating over a decision, not sure whether she should try to remain immobile, or prove her speculation right by taking a couple of steps around the tack room. Before she got the chance to test that theory, Lucy was securing the last of the reins to the harness and briskly turning her around.