Hot Pursuit (20 page)

‘Might this norm be of any use to you?'

Ginger glanced up and saw the two men were wheeling the wagon out of the garage. She took a step closer, needing to know her master's intention. The mild pleasure of her role as a pony-girl was easily forgotten when she remembered how badly she wanted to get her hands on Lucy.

Donald shook his head. ‘Contrary to popular opinion, I'm not on this pursuit for the fresh air and scenery.' His wry smile hid an edge of bitterness. ‘Nor am I trying to swell the ranks of my barony with easily swayed norms. I'm trying to capture a runaway. Her accomplice is unimportant.'

If she had dared to speak up, if she hadn't feared the repercussions for revealing her eavesdropping, Ginger would have argued that the norm could prove vitally important. She considered snatching the bit from between her teeth and telling Donald that, if they weren't able to get their hands on Lucy – and she thought that was growing more likely with every
passing second – then an accomplice might be able to point them in the direction of their objective.

The opportunity to raise her argument passed as she was ushered between the other three pony-girls into the wagon's shafts. She quietly cursed the exercise, sure it was going to prove a waste of time and wishing her body wasn't responding to the pleasurable tug of the harness.

But, as soon as she felt the familiar pull on her reins, it was impossible to ignore the enjoyment of hauling the wagon. Donald was alone on the driver's seat, leaving the Welsh master behind in the courtyard, while Ginger and her team were encouraged through the archway and out to the front of the hall. Each step was announced by a flurry of bells that rang musically over the empty grounds of the estate. The creak of the wagon's wheels and ageing chassis were a constant backing track beneath the deepening tenor of her breath. Ginger revelled in the happy memories of all the times she had experienced this dubious joy before and, as soon as they started to trot across even ground she found herself relishing the experience.

Her nipples were pinched each time she pulled on the cart and that spiralling anguish quickly had her in paroxysms of elation. The leather straps continued to squirm against her cleft, exciting her labia and leaving her giddy with growing desire. When Donald began to snap the whip, catching a thigh here and smacking a bare buttock there, she found herself more relaxed than she had been since the chase began.

Her sex lips were repeatedly caressed by the harness straps and her clitoris was pressed and crushed with every step. Orgasm was impractical yet inevitable and she forced herself to resist its siren call.
With her concentration fixed solely on the mechanics of keeping pace with the rest of the team, and pulling the wagon without crippling herself with delight, there was no time left to brood on Lucy.

The favourite beside her grinned around her bit. Her forehead glistened with sweat and her nipples stood hard between the metal bars of her bridle. She was panting deeply, clearly on the precipice of absolute pleasure, and fighting the prospect of climax diligently. Each time the whip bit her backside she flinched and then shivered. The elation in her eyes was unmistakable. Daring to glance behind, looking at the other favourites who made up the quartet, Ginger saw they wore identical expressions of euphoria. Quickly, Ginger turned her attention back to the path ahead and savoured her own perverse joy.

‘There she goes,' Donald cried. ‘Three o'clock.'

Ginger glanced toward her left and saw, miraculously, that the buggy was still in sight. Its covered hood concealed the driver's position but the nude backside of the pony-girl was clearly visible as they rounded a corner and headed through the gates. Ginger couldn't believe that the buggy was still so close and she wondered what could possibly have slowed Lucy enough to keep her within striking range. Putting that consideration aside, knowing that the pursuit was now the most important thing on her agenda, she invested an extra effort when Donald demanded a canter.

He snapped the whip with renewed vigour, striking her buttocks twice before slashing crisp blows against the rest of the team. Ginger heard a muted chorus of grunts and stifled protests but the sounds were barely audible above the jangle of the bells and the creaking chassis of the wagon. The scent of perspiration and rich, fetid musk now tainted every breath and she
groaned indulgently when another rush of bliss swept through her body. The aromas were those intoxicating fragrances she always associated with the heat of gratuitous passion and it was impossible not be transported by their pungent odour. A searing swell of raw bliss left her debilitated and unable to do anything except run and enjoy.

As soon as Donald demanded a gallop, all four of them hurried faster in pursuit.

The single-seater buggy slipped swiftly through the gates and hurried toward a dense copse just outside the estate.

Trying to think beyond her own pleasure, still wanting to pre-guess Lucy's actions, Ginger wondered if they could intercept their prey before she reached the trees. If Lucy managed to get to that particular sanctuary, Ginger thought she could easily hide there without fear of consequences. The wagon was too wide to make its way through the woodland and Ginger knew her master wouldn't allow any of the favourites to pursue the buggy without him and his carriage. Fretting that this could be her last chance to capture the runaway, she threw every effort into another burst of speed.

‘Faster!' Donald cried. ‘As fast as you can. We can catch her if we're quick.'

To punctuate the instruction he slapped the whip down brutally hard.

Ginger closed her eyes against the explosion of pain, running blindly as the excitement became too much for her. A weal of vicious anguish was branded against her backside and its burrowing heat spiralled through her tormented frame. She gasped around her bit, held her breath as her nipples were squeezed afresh, then stumbled forward through the staggering delight of an orgasm.

When she opened her eyes, the buggy had disappeared. She blinked twice, vainly hoping it would reappear. The mottled shadows of the trees and foliage remained infuriatingly bereft of buggies. Briefly, she thought she saw some movement within the copse – a flicker of white that could have been sunlight catching a white canvas roof – but it was gone before she could be sure.

‘Fiddlesticks,' Donald exclaimed.

If not for the bit in her mouth Ginger's own exclamation would have been far more colourful. She put an extra effort into running forward, sure the buggy would loom into view if she could only get a little closer, but Donald started pulling the team to a halt.

‘Whoa!' he chided. ‘Hold it there.'

Ginger glanced back over her shoulder and gaped at him. She was amazed that her worst fears were being confirmed and Donald was genuinely letting another chance to capture Lucy slip through their fingers. She watched in amazement as he drew the wagon to a standstill and then climbed down from his seat.

Beaming indulgently, his arousal obvious from the bulge at the front of his trousers, he walked amongst the pony-girls, releasing them from the shafts and congratulating them on a good effort.

Ginger snatched her gaze from Donald to the shadows of the copse. Another flicker of white from within the gloom made her sure that Lucy was painfully close but she knew her master was no longer bothered about pursuing their quarry. Judging by the lascivious lilt that twisted his grin, his interests were now fixed on something more immediate.

‘You're a pretty little thing, aren't you?' he chuckled, teasing his fingers against the rump of one favourite.

Sickened with fury, Ginger could only watch as her master slipped his knuckles against the girl's sex.

The favourite giggled encouragement and writhed herself onto him. The dewy lips of her pussy engulfed two of his broad fingers before they both moaned. Her arousal and desire for satisfaction were clear from the thrust of her nipples to the eager pout of her smile.

‘Isn't that a coincidence?' Donald marvelled. ‘This pony-carting always excites me and, it seems, you respond to it in exactly the same way.'

The favourite's giggle resurfaced, this time joined by laughter from the other two.

Ginger shook her head and took an impatient step closer to the gates.

All three favourites moved closer to Donald and Ginger could see they were trying to illicit some acknowledgement or approval. One of them stroked her master's forearm and was rewarded by his smile and the pressure of his hand cupping her bare breast. The other boldly placed a hand against the thrust of his arousal and Donald laughed as he encouraged her to take the stiff length from his trousers. The three favourites busied themselves around him, greedily kissing his face, rubbing their hands over his hardness, and eagerly allowing him to caress and plunder their bodies. The rural silence was broken by the squelch of his fingers penetrating wet clefts, and the jangle of dressage bells being pushed aside as Donald fondled hard nipples. One of the favourites, the ruddy-faced girl who had run alongside Ginger, pulled the bit from her mouth and lowered her lips over his erection.

Unable to watch, sure that there was still a chance to capture Lucy, Ginger left the four of them to their pleasure. She believed they were distracted enough
not to notice her departure and, once she had slipped through the gates, Ginger started to run.

The ring of the dressage bells chimed loudly around her.

She heard Donald shouting her name, recognised the tone of impatience that told her there would be repercussions later, but another glimpse of the buggy convinced her that this small act of defiance would be a price worth paying.

Not listening to Donald's cries for her to come back, blinkered to everything except getting closer to the buggy, Ginger rushed into the copse. The bells at her nipples and clitoris still jangled with every step but that was only a minor nuisance and one that she didn't have time to rectify. The prospect of catching Lucy was so close she could feel her pussy muscles clenching with the anticipation of retribution.

‘Ginger? Where the devil have you gone?'

Ignoring Donald's cries for her to show herself and return, Ginger ploughed through the copse and saw the buggy moving slowly through the clutter of trees. She quickened her pace and swiftly narrowed the distance between them. She was running on pure adrenaline and avoiding pitfalls and potholes of the land by blind chance. As soon as she was close enough, she threw the last of her energies into snatching at the buggy's hooded canopy and pulled hard on a fistful of white canvas.

A woman screamed.

The spindly wheels left the ground and bounced high in the air.

And then the canvas was snatched from her fingers as the vehicle lurched onward.

For an instant Ginger thought the buggy would straighten itself, and that her efforts and sacrifice had been futile. But, when one wooden wheel struck the
side of a tree, turning the buggy on its side and dragging the pony-girl down, she realised she had finally made some progress in the chase.

She glanced back over her shoulder but Donald and the remnants of his team were within the boundaries of the estate and nowhere to be seen. Even his cries had subsided and she guessed he had lost interest in her unauthorised absence in favour of taking advantage of the eager favourites.

Hurrying to the fallen buggy she cursed furiously when she discovered that Lucy wasn't in the carriage. It was only when she glanced at the pony-girl, held prisoner in the restraints of her bridle and harness, that Ginger realised she might be able to salvage something from the situation. Grinning with malicious glee, she shrugged off her own restraints, tore the bit from her mouth, and advanced on the fallen blonde.

‘I'm looking for the record keeper,' Lucy declared. Her confident voice rang from the walls of the library. ‘I've been told that I'll find him here,' she continued. ‘Do you know where he is?'

The man behind the desk sat bolt upright. At first she thought he was starting guiltily, but that idea seemed so absurd Lucy quickly brushed it aside. He glared at her ferociously and raised a finger to point at something behind her back. Coolly, she glanced at the sign above the doorway she had just walked through:
SILENCE PLEASE, SPEAK ONLY WHEN SPOKEN TO.

Without acknowledging the sign's instruction, she turned her gaze back on the wizened figure and studied him carefully. Her lips thinned as she concentrated and her forehead wrinkled before her smile blossomed with understanding. It only took a moment to fathom his needs and his drives and, confident that she could exploit those tastes, Lucy decided that things were finally working in her favour.

‘You're the record keeper, aren't you?'

His frown flickered with uncertainty and she watched as he tried to impose his authority on the situation. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and she wondered why he should appear so agitated.
‘Yes,' he agreed. ‘I am the record keeper.' Stiff with pomposity he added, ‘And this is my library. While you're here, you'll obey my rules. If you're not going to stay silent you can leave now.'

She sashayed over to his desk and continued to study him, wondering if she might have misread him. She couldn't recall ever making an error of judgement before but this instance was important enough to make her consider her actions with the utmost care. ‘Gosh!' she exclaimed, speaking with forced sarcasm. ‘You speak with such a commanding voice. How could a girl do anything except obey your every word?' Not waiting for his response, acting with an assured confidence that was becoming second nature, Lucy climbed onto his desk and towered over him.

The record keeper spluttered. His eyes shone with disbelief and his lips shaped words that his outrage couldn't manage. She half-expected him to lurch out of his chair but, for some reason that was beyond her comprehension, he remained sitting while he strove to contain his fury.