I can do–
Miranda put her finger on my lips again. No, no, no, that’s a rhetorical question; you are property, and property doesn’t offer opinions. I’ll give Phoebe a call and see if she fancies a bit of sapphic love before dinner.
Phoebe. This brute has just battered my poor little pussy black and blue; it badly needs kissing better. Miranda spoke into her phone. I heard Phoebe laughing on the other end. Oh, I bet you have suffered so badly, you poor, poor girl. You better bring him with you, though; it never does to leave them on their own for too long. They start to have delusions of adequacy.
We wandered over to Phoebe and Skinny Boy’s camper van. They actually had a campervan with a box trailer. Phoebe’s sulky was in the trailer.
When we got there, Phoebe and Skinny, who is actually called Skinny, were waiting for us. The call was just Miranda winding me up. We each had a plate from Phoebe’s camper kitchen for the curry and joined the cue. While walking back to eat, a huge horse box, twice the size of Miranda’s, rumbled into the aria set aside for camping. In the passenger seat was Marieann Cooper-Smith, alongside the driver, Zac Cooper-Smith. Posh public schoolboy standoff half for one of London’s top rugby teams, Zac was once touted to become an England international.
I’m a blindside flanker, the mortal enemy of a standoff half, and I play for a different team. One of the reasons my team recently held the upper hand over Zac’s team was me. I outplayed him in every game we played. I was a yard faster than him, I was stronger than him in the upper body, and I had more stamina than him. I wanted to win. I was driven to win. I trained until I was so exhausted that I vomited.
Zac believed it was all his by right, but I knew it was mine through hard work. To be fair, he had buckets full of natural talent–far more than me. But he was a coaster. He had never developed his full potential. Life had been easy for Zac Cooper-Smith
I fell onto one of the folding chairs in the awning of Phoebe’s campervan. I was laughing my tits off. Miranda was a little taken aback, to say the least. What is it?” she said.
Pony boy Zeus and I are well acquainted, and in my best Lenny Henry voice, I said, “Better hold on; it’s going to be a bumpy ride. I filled my mistress in on the details. Miranda started planning our victory. Stick in behind him, and as you come out of the last bend, use your speed to beat him.
Sorry Mistress. This pony can talk, and he’s talking about humiliating this bastard. You just need to hold on tight and don’t fall off your perch, my pretty bird.
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