Rhiannon and Mellory had finished breakfast. Now they sat around the kitchen table at Llandegley discussing Equus Europa, whose brochure had arrived in the morning post and was spread out on the table before them. The group, based in The Netherlands, was formed by Elena de Vries a Dutch businesswoman and lifestyle dominatrix who had started the organisation a decade earlier with the express aim of promoting the sport of human equestrianism. The accompanying letter explained that the highlight of the group’s year was the annual meeting held at Ms de Vries estate just outside the Dutch city of Utrecht. The centre piece of the event was the racing where male “ponies” pulled their female riders in chariot races, a knockout event where the eventual winner held aloft the Nederijn Trophy, named after the Lower Rhine river alongside which the race track ran through the forest. The event took place over the last weekend in May when the trees were in full leaf and the paths that ran between them were heavily shaded from the strong early summer sun.
The racing chariot attracted quite a bit of attention on it’s trailer in the queue waiting to load onto the cross channel ferry. Many theories abounded amongst those curious as to what it’s use was, but probably not a single one of those assessments was entirely accurate. The BMW estate car to which the trailer was attached appeared to contain only two attractive women, the shaven headed man occupying the rear seat was obscured by the dark privacy glass. Neither could they see the metal cage beneath the drawn across load cover, inside which their slave had spent the journey from Wales to the channel port, having been released and allowed to dress in tee shirt and jeans to avoid any potentially tricky questions.
Since the beginning of the year the two women had been training their slave in the art of chariot racing and building up his fitness and stamina. Each weekend had seen him harnessed up to the little vehicle with either Rhiannon or Mellory standing behind him, whip in hand, as they drove him hard along the track that they had marked out through the forty five acre High Wood that was situated on the piece of high ground above Llandegley Farm. The winding, undulating paths that ran through the wood formed a track just over a mile in length. Once harnessed to the chariot the driver would take her place while the other timed the run with a stopwatch. From an initial time of just under ten minutes they had gradually cut their best time down to just over eight. Now the fitness of their slave that had been built up over the past few months would be put to the ultimate test in full blooded racing.
Once their car was clear of the ferry port Rhiannon turned off onto a smaller road and pulled off into a secluded area. Mellory supervised the undressing of the slave until he stood beside the car in only his penis restraint and leather collar. Obedient to her command he climbed back inside the cage once more for the remainder of the journey. Their car joined the long, straight Autoroute heading north across the featureless flatlands. They crossed the border into Belgium, a route that they would follow until their arrival at their destination just outside the Netherlands town of Utrecht that was the home of Elena de Vries.
The daughter of a Rotterdam businessman, Elena had made a very successful career for herself in the world of publishing. After university she had formed a small company producing lifestyle magazines largely aimed at professional women. One of these catered for the equestrian sector and as an offshoot to this she produced a small niche publication called Equus Europa. The magazine only had a circulation of a few hundred, it’s core readership a group of women and their submissive male counterparts whose interests lay in the area of human pony racing using submissive men. Equus Europa now counted members across Northern Europe and over the coming weekend the third international racing event was to be held at her riverside estate.
They took the motorway out of Utrecht to the east, heading towards Arnhem and the border with Germany. After only a few minutes drive a smaller road led off through the wooded national park and towards the river known as the Nederijn. Standing on the river bank the Large Dutch colonial style house was approached by a long drive overhung by rows of willow trees on either side. Elena greeted them. A tall, classically blonde Dutch woman in her mid fifties she oozed wealth, style and grace. Dressed in a cream trouser suit with black court shoes she led them into the house. “I am so pleased to welcome you to the Equus Europa race weekend, I’m sure that you will have a lot of fun.” Her English was perfect with only a slight accent.
She led them through to a spacious and elegantly furnished drawing room that looked out across a large lawn leading down to the river bank where an elegant older style cruiser was moored. Two women sat side by side on one of the several sofas in the drawing room. Elena introduced them as Kirsten Becker and Sapphira Delatoise. “They live at Maastricht so they are always first to arrive.” She explained. ” We tend to all speak English, almost everyone is in business so it has become a sort of common language.” Over coffee Elena spoke of how the idea of Equus Europa had developed. ” I came to realise that a group of women existed who wished to combine their love of equestrianism with their desire also to dominate men. It was for that reason that I set up our organisation. I wouldn’t say that we are exactly a secret society, although discretion is an integral part of it. Come, I will show you both around.”
Walking outside Elena motioned to a red brick outbuilding. “This is the stable block. You are welcome to use any of the vacant stalls for your pony.” She opened the door to reveal a row of neat rectangular cubicles. Two of them held naked males, both wore black leather body harnesses,their arms strapped neatly across their backs. They stood against the wall, held by steel spring loaded links attached to their collars that ensured they remained locked in position. “We tend to be quite strict with our slaves, we find that it helps greatly with obedience if they realise that there can be absolutely no misunderstandings. These two are Kirsten and Sapphira’s ponies, I am sure both will be in contention for the cup. You will find all the equipment that you need in the tack room on the end of the block.”
Rhiannon released their slave from his cage and attached a leash to his collar. She led him into the stable block and fetched a harness from the tack room before securing him in a stall next to the two ponies already there. As they were about to return to the house a silver Mercedes SUV came up the drive and drew to a halt outside the stable. A tall, statuesque woman with a blonde ponytail got out and exchanged kisses with Elena. She introduced her to Rhiannon and Mellory “Meet Linzi Paulsen. She is a businesswoman from Esbjerg. We are quite a cosmopolitan group.” Linzi motioned to the back of the SUV where her pony was shackled inside his cage. “I must get him out and give him some water. It’s been a long journey.”
After Linzi had watered and secured her pony in one of the stalls the four of them took the track that led off towards the river. The Nederrijn at this point was about two hundred metres wide, a smooth, slow flowing band, heading inexorably westwards towards Rotterdam after which it became tidal, eventually joining up with the grey North Sea. They turned into the edge of the wood. A gravelled track ran along the river bank for several hundred metres. Elena explained “This is the start and finish line for the race track, once it turns away from the river through the forest it becomes more twisty with a few inclines which is more of a test for the ponies, it’s all wide enough for two racing chariots side by side but it does require some skill, an error could result in a crash and any pony responsible for that would inevitably suffer a severe penalty. Let’s go back to the house, it will soon be time for dinner.”
Eight ladies took their places around the large oval dining table. The final pair to arrive were Chantal and Laure who had driven up from Epernay in Northern France. Both worked in the Champagne trade and had brought a whole case with them, which one of their two pony boy slaves carried from their car to the house before Chantal had stabled them for the night. Elena owned four slaves, two of whom she kept purely for domestic service, the other pair being trained for racing. The domestic slaves now served the meal and dispensed the drinks. Elena’s riding crop remained on the table before her, such was the efficiency of her two domestic slaves. The Champagne flowed as the ladies enjoyed their dinner and chatted. Eventually Elena stood up to announce the schedule for the following day.
” We have been so lucky with the weather for the event this year so it is my intention to serve a picnic lunch on the lawn tomorrow before the commencement of the racing. The order of the events will be four knockout head to head races followed by two semi finals with the final in the evening, each race to be one circuit of the two kilometre track. I have written the names of the eight competitors on pieces of paper and I shall now draw them to establish the order of racing and the individual heats.” She picked up the first piece of paper before announcing “Rhiannon ” She picked up another. ” Will race against Laure.” She continued. “Chantal will race against Kirsten and Linzi will race against myself. So that leaves Mellory against Sapphira.” Elena turned to Rhiannon. “As you only have brought only the one pony you can use one of mine, I will let you choose which one you prefer in the morning.”
Up in their room Rhiannon said to Mellory ” I don’t think that I will have much chance against Laure, she’s so tiny and that will be a big advantage.” Her friend agreed. Laure, despite being in her early thirties was barely five feet tall with a luxuriant thick mane of blonde hair that fell to her waist. She would have a significant advantage over all the others with the possible exception of Mellory who, being petite herself, probably weighed not much more than the French woman. “Oh well,” laughed Mellory “It’s the taking part that counts.” Rhiannon agreed. “Yes it’s going to be an awful lot of fun, I’m really looking forward to tomorrow,”
Sunday morning broke bright and cloudless, the sun already high in a brilliant blue sky by the time Rhiannon accompanied Elena out to the stable block. “You are welcome to choose your pony. They are both well trained and strong.” Rhiannon entered one of the stalls and ran her hands over the rippling muscled back of one of the ponies, a rather squat, shaven headed man with a variety of tattoos that marked him as property of Mistress Elena. “He has been in my ownership for more than eight years now, the first pony to be entirely owned by me on a twenty four seven basis. The other pony was rather taller with short blond hair. “This was Ruud before he had renounced his name in favour of the digital slave registration. Elena ran her finger along a rectangular bar code panel tattooed onto the small of his back. She continued her explanation. “Once accepted by the Equus estate a slave has all their personal history wiped and they become a mere piece of owned property. The first stage of this process is to allocate them a cipher identity that will stay with them as long as they remain here. There are no rights attached to them during ownership, their status is exactly that of a real pony.”
Rhiannon thought for a few moments. ” I will take this one thank you.” She placed her hand on the shoulder of the erstwhile Ruud. Elena smiled. “I am sure he will give you one hundred percent effort. You will of course have seen that Laure has a certain advantage in terms of her stature. She looks like a schoolgirl I know but she is in fact a very skilful equestrienne and she gets the very best from her charges. I must admit that nobody would ever accuse her of sparing the rod.” As they walked back to the house Rhiannon asked. ” On that subject are there any rules regarding the use of the whip?” Elena laughed. “This is not the jockey club. No there are no rules. Equus recognises that an integral part of the enjoyment human pony racing for some of our members is the celebration of female supremacy. They enjoy being able have, shall we say a free rein? We leave their use of the whip entirely to their own conscience, although I must say some of them seem to show very little evidence of having one.”
The lawn had been laid out for lunch with a large trestle table surrounded by eight chairs. The seven visiting ladies had been admiring the polished mahogany and brass of the Wilhelmina Oranje moored on the river bank. The nineteen metre motor yacht moored on the river bank had been Elena’s father’s pride and joy. Built in nineteen thirty for a wealthy Rotterdam factory owner he had lovingly restored it to it’s past glory. It was on this yacht that the post race party was scheduled for later that evening. After their picnic lunch the first two ponies were harnessed up to their chariots and led out by their riders towards the starting line. Laure wore traditional cream riding jodphurs with high heeled laced knee boots. Rhiannon in her traditional flat boots still stood slightly taller than the diminutive French woman. Each woman checked their ponies and made final adjustments to their harnessing before selecting their whips and stepping up onto the platform of their chariots. Elena climbed onto the starter’s rostrum and dropped the red, white and blue Dutch flag to begin the first race.
The two chariots headed off side by side into the woods and Rhiannon moved ahead going into the first turn. She managed to maintain this narrow lead through the various twists and turns and the gentle undulations that ran through the riverside forest. It was as they came out of the final turn onto the seven hundred metre straight that ran along the river bank that Rhiannon heard the distinctive sound of leather on flesh. The wild little Laure, long blonde hair now streaming out behind in the breeze was applying her whip to great effect as she now drew up alongside Rhiannon who countered with several hard cuts across her pony’s back and shoulders. This produced some effect and, for a hundred metres they ran neck and neck. Gradually at first Laure began to pull ahead but over the last two hundred metres the gap increased inexorably and she won by a margin that Elena recorded as just under five seconds.
Losing wasn’t the full extent of the humiliation for the vanquished ponies however. As they were beaten each losing rider was handed three coils of rope. The losing slave suffered the additional penalty of being bound to one of the row of willow trees that stood along the riverbank, wrists and ankles tightly roped behind them around their trunks. The next heat was Chantal against Kirsten. The former won easily by almost twenty seconds after Kirsten’s pony misjudged a turn and ended up in the undergrowth, effectively deciding the heat. He soon took his place roped to the second willow tree.
The race between Elena and the tall blonde Dane Linzi Paulsen was by the agreement of all the competitors the most exciting heat of the first round. The lead changed several times during the forest section and the two chariots emerged onto the riverside path side by side. Linzi, resplendent in a skin tight black leather catsuit and boots was already using the whip heavily, her pony responded with a spirited sprint that briefly gained her half a length on her rival. Elena bided her time. Only once the finishing line was in sight did she raise her whip. The metre long dressage whip with it’s slim polypropylene shaft delivered a stunning cut across first one shoulder then the other. Elena followed these two intensely cruel blows with a sharp pull on her reins and a loud scream, part encouragement, part threat, that seemed to energise her pony and in the final few metres it was sufficient to pull their chariot ahead in what was almost, but not quite, a photo finish.
Mellory took her place behind Hugh on the chariot alongside Sapphira Delatoise on hers. Mellory looked magnificent in her black leather figure hugging jodphurs and short matching leather jacket. From the fall of the flag she allowed the chestnut haired Frenchwoman to take the lead. In a repetition of Laure’s tactics Mellory conserved her pony’s energy until the final turn. Mindful of the semi final ahead she used her crop only enough to enable her to win the heat by half a length. Sapphira’s pony soon took his place roped to the fourth willow tree, his spiteful owner binding him cruelly tight as a repayment for what she saw as his betrayal.The semi final draw saw Elena pitted against Laure while Mellory took on Chantal.
The two semi finals turned out to be something of an anti climax. Elena’s pony tripped on a tree root and finished way behind Laure. Once again Mellory ran a clever tactical race, recording an unspectacular win over Laure’s partner Chantal. Now six ponies were lined up in the afternoon sun, each bound to the trunk of a willow tree alongside the river path.The final between Mellory and Laure was scheduled for seven thirty after which a party was planned. Elena’s two domestic slaves were kept busy setting things up on board the Wilhelmina Orange where the prize giving ceremony and dinner was set to take place.
At seven pm both competitors made their way out to the stable block where both the remaining ponies had been fed and watered and given some rest in preparation for the final race. Twenty minutes later their riders stood back and admired their handiwork. The ponies stood side by side now fully harnessed on the starting line. Both bodies were sleek and gleaming, their forearms strapped tightly to the shafts of their chariots. With muscles rippling they both looked good to the gathered group of ladies, who now all had glasses of Champagne in their hands as they watched the preparations. Finally their leather head harnesses and reins were fitted and steel bits drawn up between the ponies jaws to give their riders the ultimate level of control that they desired during the race. At the signal that was given by Elena both black leather clad and booted Mellory and the slim, cream jodphured Laure mounted their chariots and picked up their reins. The tension built until suddenly Elena raised her flag and brought it down to start the race.
The chariots quickly disappeared from view beneath the forest canopy racing side by side, gaining speed as both ponies put in maximum effort in an attempt to gain an early advantage over their rival. Laure, with her distinctive aggressive style, used her whip from the start while Mellory who had decided to carry the dressage whip that she had borrowed from Elena held off from using hers until she felt it absolutely necessary to do so.The sounds of the little Frenchwoman’s riding crop echoed through the forest as she managed to pull in front at the third bend. Mellory, using her reins skilfully, tucked in close behind Laure’s chariot, content to bide her time and await her chance to take the lead. Both ponies were starting to tire now as their participation in the first two heats began to take it’s toll. Laure used her crop more and more as she tried to shake off her competitor, now so close behind that every one of Hugh’s steps sounded loud in her ears. Eventually they came to the clearing at the end of the wooded section of the course and a tight hairpin bend opened on to the riverside path. In the distance Mellory could see the six ladies gathered in a group by the finish line.
Now she used the stinging dressage whip for the first time. A hard slash to Hugh’s right buttock saw him respond to the searing pain with a distinct kick. She steadied herself and applied a second, watching as the cruel long, thin dressage whip almost instantly produced another thin red weal on her pony’s flesh. There was another, almost imperceptible, slight increase in pace, they were now barely a metre behind Laure who was cropping her charge mercilessly in an attempt to hold off Mellory’s challenge for the lead. They were close enough for Mellory to be able to make out the row of six defeated men all lashed to the trunks of the willows, their arms and ankles all tightly roped as a painful punishment for their failure. As they reached the first of the trees they were side by side, both women were whipping their sweating and exhausted ponies furiously in an attempt to wring the final iota of power from them that would be the difference between winning and losing. With ten metres to go before the finishing line Mellory glanced to her right. As she did so Laure’s pony seemed to almost stumble and suddenly she was crossing the line ahead of her rival. In the aftermath of all the excitement of the race the exhausted ponies, Laure’s now on his knees, were unharnessed from their chariots.
Mellory poured some Champagne into a stainless steel feeding bowl and Hugh was ordered to get down on his knees and drink from it. Meanwhile Laure led her pony away to the seventh willow tree, three coils of rope in her gloved hands. Surprisingly strong for her stature the little athletic blonde looped the rope around his arms above the elbows, drawing them together. She bound his wrists tightly together before using the final rope to bind his ankles. An iron spike was already driven into the back of the tree trunk. Laure lifted his ankles by the end of the rope and wrapped it around the spike making a very effective vertical hogtie. Taking his right nipple between her gloved fingers she gave it a vicious final twist before striding off to join the group of ladies who were now moving firmly into party mode.
Elena de Vries stood on the first step that led from the stateroom on board the Wilhelmina Oranje up to the wheelhouse. All seven of her guests, glasses in hands ceased their conversations as she began to speak. “Ladies, it has been a great day’s racing and the final was most exciting. It gives me great pleasure to present the Nederijn Trophy to our newest member Mellory Jones.” She handed the bronze statue depicting a kneeling man with his head bowed submissively over to Mellory. There was generous applause from all her competitors.
The following morning after a leisurely breakfast the guests gathered together their ponies and headed off home. The journey was uneventful although it was late evening by the time they arrived back at Llandegley. Hugh, as a reward for his part in winning the trophy, had been spared the cage on the return trip. When Mellory dismissed him he immediately fell to his knees and kissed her boots before returning home to his cottage. The two women sat together for a while having a nightcap discussing the weekend. “Did you notice the L on Laure’s slave’s buttock?” Mellory asked. Rhiannon confirmed that she had. Her friend continued. “I asked her about it and she told me that it was a hot branding. I thought that a nice prominent “M” on him in a similar position might look rather good, what do you think?”
Copyright DL Media – November 2019