In his Sports Z3, Peter managed the few miles to her flat in Wimbledon in record time. 'They're really going to get you one day,' she chided as she felt the spring air tousle her hair. 'They have to catch me first and I'll just plead na ve Yank' he grinned. 'Hah! Na ve is the last word I'd use to describe you my darling!' she purred as she massaged his muscled leg. They had decided to include in the trip a jog on the Common and Peter wore his shorts and a Patriots bomber jacket. At her flat, L packed her travelling suit bag before she changed into her running gear and, as P helped her load it into the car, she whispered, 'Bye, bye little flat, the next time I see you I'll be a trained pony!'

He ran her ragged. Even her 13-year age advantage failed to make up for his superior stamina. As she leant on his car sipping her energiser drink, he commented, 'I'll soon have you fit, then we can have a real race.' Without pausing for breath, she gave him the finger then finished her drink. 'I'll have you know I'm playing squash tomorrow' she added. 'Sure you'll be up to it?' he grinned. This time she held up the bottle.

Peter suggested stopping for a Big Mac on the way back. Incredulous, she said, 'One day, my sweet, you won't be as fit and the legacy of a life of fatty food will hit you with a vengeance. I'll make us a salad and use that juicer you don't seem to know you have. OK?' When it came to food, there was no question of who was in command, Peter shrugged and nodded silently.

Again, showering seemed out of the question and he told her to simply get undressed explaining that she needed to get used to her nudity. She was thankful that she was only preparing a salad and not frying. She'd made that mistake a few times on self-catering holidays and, although fat spattered breasts seemed tame in comparison to what she'd recently been through, she did not relish repeating the experience. Over the meal Peter ran through many of the routines that they'd seen at the Show the previous weekend. He then prepared a training schedule for her for the coming week. As they perused her diary she felt a little hurt when she noticed his complete lack of comment about her upcoming birthday. He seemed solely focussed on her training. 'While the food goes down, we'll watch a couple of videos about pony girl training,' he stated the moment he finished. L admired his commitment but this was also her weekend and his relentlessness was starting to wear her down. He noticed her expression, 'We only have 12 days training until the Berkshire Trials' he reminded her, 'I want to make a big impression there.' She smiled and bent over to kiss him, 'OK love.' 'Bang goes my birthday' she thought ruefully.

He bade her sit at his feet as they watched the videos. One was set in California and showed stereotypically well-endowed Hollywood soft-porn actresses going through their paces. The other was French and more arty but Lucinda completely lost the plot, if there ever was one. She just giggled occasionally when she lip-read what they were really saying. He, meanwhile, idly stroked her head as though she were a pet dog. She found this rather nice and nuzzled his hand from time to time. He then dressed her again but this time in the sensible boots and used the harness with the smaller plug and tail but left her vagina un- stuffed and sex exposed. Instead, using the vicious toothed clips - she still bore the scratches where he'd torn them from them from her nipples in his throes of ecstasy earlier, he attached small but heavy bells to her outer lips, nipples and ear lobes. Velcro straps attached her wrists to the side of harness this time and she wagged her arms while she clucked and strutted like a demented chicken in a carillon. 'I even know how to lay a massive egg!' she laughed as she squatted and pretended to excrete her plug. Peter silenced her with a sharp swat and the bridle and bit. Thankfully no blinkers this time. She was told to so some of the routines, especially the slow, high- stepping walks, in front of the big screen where she could watch herself and Peter showed her how to operate the playback on his computer. For the more energetic routines she used the long passageway of the flat. She spent the next two hours jingling all the way through her routines with Peter giving her buttocks or breasts the occasional tap with the crop. Towards the end she began to notice his patience growing thin as she grew tired and he tolerated her mistakes less and less, preferring instead to use the tip of the crop on her breasts seemingly more as an outlet for his frustration than for her guidance. 'I don't think I can take 12 days of this,' she thought glumly. Her depression increased when, after her declared her session over, he led her to the spare room and dumped another pile of newspapers on some more plastic sheeting on the floor. Releasing her arms, he told her to screw the sheets into many crumpled balls. 'Your bedding.' He explained. She pawed the floor in disgust. 'I'll call you in time to do a couple more circuits and still leave you plenty of time to get ready for work.' She stood and looked at him both emotionally and physically speechless. 'Is that a problem?' he asked threateningly. She looked down and hung her head. He nodded. 'Good. Just a couple more things then, stay!' She stayed. She was too disconsolate and tired to move. He returned carrying the hobble and a chain. After shackling her ankles he attached the chain to her bridle and locked it with another padlock before attaching the other end to the top of one of the bedposts. It gave her about 2 metres of freedom. Finally, he removed her bit and she flexed her aching jaw and was about to speak when she caught his look and closed her mouth. 'That's in case of emergencies during the night, the locks, by the way, will actually break if you pull hard enough.' He inspected her clamps and, satisfied, caressed her breast and said simply, 'Sleep well Lucky Lady.' With that he turned off the light and left. Not a kiss, nor any chance for her to say goodnight. She didn't feel so lucky any more and felt the tears start to well in her eyes as she sat alone in the harsh orange light cast by a streetlamp. 'No, damn it!' she thought and sniffed them back. She was determined to not let this wear her down. She bent her hobbled legs under her and started to crumple the newspapers then, with an evil grin, peered at the crossword and put it to one side to maintain a thread of her humanity. Finally she had built a crinkly grey nest in the corner and, as a final act of rebellion, removed the clamps on her nipples and labia and was about to curl up when Peter burst in, naked and angry. 'Put them back!' he shouted as he clipped her breasts with the crop. 'Shit!' she thought and scanned the room, 'he's even hidden a sodding camera in here!' She was going to say something about trust, and realised she was the one that had breached it. Instead, she rummaged about in the nest for the clips and winced as she peered in the gloom between her legs and re- attached them and was about to attend to her nipples when he declared. 'Those hands are obviously a temptation,' and went off to fetch something. 'Stand up and turn around!' he ordered when he returned carrying the Velcro straps and the short whip with the ribbons. She obeyed and he strapped her hands behind her back. 'Kneel up, here!' he said pointing to the floor directly in from of him. She dropped to her knees and offered her breasts to him. He stood to one side and smote down with the whip. Even though she was prepared for the blow, he managed to just catch the very ends of her breasts and the whole of her sore nipples. She winced and felt the tears immediately start to flow. 'Sod it,' she thought and let them run down her cheeks and onto her throbbing breasts as he continued her punishment. Finally the hail of blows ceased and she gazed up at him through tear- streaked eyes, the wetness shattering the streetlights into diagonal orange shafts that surrounded his dim form. 'Suck it!' she heard him say. Bewildered she blinked the film away and noticed his erection rampant before her mouth. She gulped and dutifully opened her lips then placed them around his glans to start her oral caresses. To her anguish, he refused her ministrations and, gripping the back of her head by a handful of hair, swiftly masturbated into her mouth even denying her the right to swallow his seed as he withdrew and jetted over her face and still pulsing breasts.

With a wipe of his hand on her hair, he left, slamming the door behind him. She stared, her mouth still shaped like the sectional head of his penis as his semen mingled with her tears and dripped onto her thighs. With a final sigh, she folded into a small ball and went to sleep sobbing softly.