A Gift in the Post Pt. 02

We had a pretty uneventful journey. From where we had parked at the dogging spot to just past Llanedi, the Welsh end of the M4 is at least seven-eighths of the journey, and that was all motorway. Miraculously, there were no traffic holdups. I was still the best part of naked, so we had the heating turned up.

Miranda was, for now, just Miranda. She had clothes in the back, but the nearest thing I had to acceptable public decency was the chastity belt. Given that stark bollock naked must be zero, I suppose the chastity belt would score a one on the Mary Whitehouse approval scale.

We stopped at Leigh Delamere Services for coffee. Miranda took it as an opportunity to publicly embarrass me by parking as close to the entrance as she could. First, though, I was told to wait while she nipped in at the entrance, returning 10 minutes later with a pair of Saturday Night Pink ladies elasticated swim shorts and a carrier bag. Look, I’ve bought you something to wear inside.

“But these are ladies,” I said.

She smiled at me and said, “Yes, they are pretty. Put them on.” Now, I want you in the back of the van, Alad, and don’t make me repeat myself.” I took the Alad as a sign that we were back in roll. “Yes, Mistress Miranda”.

Mercifully, there weren’t too many mean people around, so I reached for the door handle.

“Stop,” she commanded. I froze as a family with little kids got out of a car opposite us and made their way inside the service.

“Thank you, mistress.”

“It’s your job to obey my every word and, above all, trust me, Alad, but it is equally my job to look after and care for you. If you can accept that and do your best to act accordingly, there will be a future for us long after this weekend. That was very good boy; perhaps I won’t have to flay every millimetre of skin off your arse before this weekend is out.” Miranda gave me one of her very best smiles when she said that, but I did wonder if she really wanted to flay every millimetre of skin off my arse and was secretly disappointed.

“Don’t prevaricate; there are a few grown men and women about but no children or maiden aunts looking for a reason to be offended. Get your arse around to the back door of this van now.” As I reached for the door handle. Miranda reached across to me, held me by my jaw, and pulled me to her face for a kiss. It wasn’t a tongue-in-cheek job. A little more than just a friendly peck. “It’s all about trust; don’t worry, I won’t let you down,” she said, and then she kissed me again.

As she broke the kiss, she said, “Put these on. I want you pulling my cart tomorrow; I don’t want to be bailing you out of police cells.” They were at least two sizes too small. Just about every detail of my cock and balls was evident, but I thought they might just stop me from being arrested for indecent exposure.

Jumping out of the passenger door and sprinting around the back of the van was a bit of a waste of effort. The door was locked, and I didn’t have the key. I got there before Miranda was out of her side of the van.

“My, you’re very quick,” she said. “You didn’t think I’d give up this opportunity to show off my boy, did you?” A group of twenty-something males and females stood slack-jawed, gawping at me.

“Turn around, boy!” Miranda ordered, “Loud enough for the group to hear,” one of the guys said, making a lot of noise. “Oh my god, look at the pussy in the panties.”

My cock was telling the world what a slut I was by trying to poke its way out of the swim shorts. My cocky head had found a fold where the stretchy fabric of the shorts was sewn to the less stretchy waist; it was tenting the shorts obscenely.

Miranda reached down and held the outline of my cocked head in her hand. Don’t you wish he had a big cock like this instead of a big mouth?” She said this to the noisy fecker’s girl. “He knows how to make me very happy with it as well. Apparently, Miranda wasn’t above telling a lie to make her point.

In the van, Miranda produced from her new carrier bag a tee shirt, jeans, and a pair of trainers. The jeans were a perfect fit, but the tee was a size too small.

She ran her fingers over my nipples and said, “I think these need a little more decoration, don’t you?” If Kay and Kevin are at the meeting, I will see what they have to match these rings.

“Who are Kay and Kevin Mistress?”

Kay did your piercings at the fetish market. You are fairly well acquainted with Kevin’s work. He made your belt, and when we get this race out of the way, you’re going to be in that twenty-four, seven. I paid a lot of money for that, and I want to get the benefit of owning a very horny stud. Kay is Kevin’s wife, slut, and sub. Quite the prettiest little thing on the sub/dom scene, an ex-nurse and the only person I trust to do my piercings. That means, because I trust her, she is going to do all of yours.

I don’t get a say in this, do I, mistress?

No, of course not.

We caused quite a stir in the service foyer. My clothing was nothing out of the ordinary, but Miranda had put me in a simple strap armbinder. It held me with wrist cuffs that were held together with a welded ring and cuffs that sat just above my elbows. They were connected by a short chain. Then, pretty much just for show, the two sets of cuffs were connected by a strap.

My final little bit of bondage was a dog collar. With the buckle set to its maximum, it was a little tight. Miranda was a little concerned, but I assured her I would be OK. Finally, she clipped a dog lead to my collar and led me off to feed me coffee through a straw and finger feed me a toasted sandwich for lunch.

When we got to the farm, there were one or two other horse boxes there. It seemed very friendly; I expected far more rivalry. Miranda told me most people here were here just to enjoy themselves. The hard-line S/M party I was expecting just wasn’t happening. Miranda said it would be a bit more leather and whips after the race tomorrow night.

Miranda and I were getting the sulky racing cart out of the horsebox. It’s the same cart she uses for the trotting races she adores; she has her four-legged pony for that. I have yet to meet him. He is a little wider in the beam than me, so a different pair of shafts are needed.

Miranda My darling, how are you? The voice belonged to a woman, slightly overweight, but she carried it well. Rubenesque would sum her up perfectly. She led a terrified-looking skinny kid around on a leash. She went on, You seem to have found a very nice pony. Have you schooled him yet?

Phoebe, darling, how are you? No, believe it or not, I only got my hands on him today. To be honest, I think he is going to be a bit of a disappointment tomorrow, but I have high hopes for him. I may have one here for the future, but he is all I have today unless Duncan turns up. I’ve told him, “No more racing for him. So I’m afraid it looks like that bitch Marieann will collect the trophy yet again.

Well, I’m not going to beat her with this specimen, am I?

Oh, dear Phoebe, probably not. It’s good to talk to you, darling. I need to get this one ready.

“Believe it or not, Phoebe and Martin are very happily married and have been for the 15 years I’ve known them.”

“He looks petrified.”

He has probably walked the course. I’d be petrified if I had to pull Phoebe around this track twice. Miranda said it just a little unkindly.

I was working on the sulky, and as I was going to be the one doing the hard work, I thought I’d give it a once-over. I don’t think my new mistress has ever heard of the word “maintenance.” I found an old towel and used it as a catch-all to strip, clean, and re-grease the wheels. Ease a binding brake and get some air in the tyres. Most of the running gear seemed to be mountain bike spares, so fairly simple stuff. While I was sitting on the ground, an old boy, well into his 60s, walked up and asked where Miranda was.

“She went off to find us something to eat, mate.”

“Mind if I wait?”

“Not at all, buddy.” There’s a kettle in the box; you could be useful and make us both a brew.

We sat and talked for a bit, and it didn’t take long for me to realise this was Duncan. I don’t suppose it took him long to realise I was his replacement. I started to apologise for ousting him, but he insisted I’d probably saved his life. I ain’t the man I used to be,” he said. Miranda had snuck up on us while we were talking.

“You were never the man you thought you were, you old goat.”

These two were obviously good friends. I was relieved, though, that they were just friends.

“Are you staying the night, Duncan?”

“If I’m invited, but I don’t want to intrude.”

“You can sleep in the top bunk,” said Miranda.

But you fetch your own water to shower in the morning. I forgot to top up the tank. Someone will have a wheelbarrow and a water tank; try Phoebe.

“I’ve got a favour to ask,” said Duncan. “Bit of a cheek, really. Can I pull the cart for the morning parade? Just for old time’s sake?”

“Oh, I can’t say now, Duncan!” “I have to talk to Keith about that.”

“What’s to talk about?” I said. As I understand it, it’s all about the etiquette of The Other Pony Club. I know nothing of that.”

“Not the race, though I can’t do another.” “It will finish me off.”

“Well, if Keith doesn’t mind,” said Miranda.

“I can watch and learn a bit,” I said. ”

“Guy, the guy who runs this is putting on a curry in an hour. When you get up to the house, it’s all you can smell. I saw your car coming up the field, Duncan, so I took the liberty of ordering you one as well. Guy says it’s not going to be too hot, so we should all be OK. I presume you are OK with curry, Keith.

Duncan and I both agreed that curry would be a godsend. Later on, when Miranda had gone off for a natter with Phoebe, Duncan warned me off eating anything prepared by Miranda; “the woman can burn water,” he said.

“Duncan told me he had seen a good old friend walking around the camping area. She doesn’t compete in the races anymore, but she may share a nice, warm bed with him for the night. If he plays his cards right, I may even get my bum spanked. If I don’t come back until the morning, don’t worry. Tell Miranda I’ve gone to see if I can mend a bridge with Katy.”