Running Free

From beneath an alcove, a young 22-year-old girl stood and watched as the racers ran by. The racers in questions being a team of a pony and a rider. Each pony pulled a chariot, a cart carrying one rider. The field had eight of these ponies racing hard, hair flowing in the wind as they ran with all their might and their riders were tense, flicking direction whips and shouting to encourage and urge their ponies on. The stadium they raced in was a typical oval shape. The ponies' hooves dug into the dirt of the track, kicking up dust and covering their flanks in soil as they fought for position. The stands of this stadium were sparse. Mostly, it was shrouded, shaded, secluded viewing boxes where the rich and elite watched from and the only other spectators were either involved in the care of these ponies or were part of the riders' teams. That and the few dozen cameras capturing each and every angle, a camera team dedicated to each individual pony.

It might have been normal and even picturesque had the ponies not been humans.

The girl watching the pony race felt her heart thudding in her chest as her team's pony and rider, a buxom girl with flowing blonde hair, a determined face, strong legs, and arms tied tightly in an arm binder roared by. The pony, this blonde girl, was naked aside from a set of thigh-high pony boots, a broad "saddle" around her waist to attach the chariot to, a harness around her head with a brass bit between her teeth, and a series of ribbons tied around her neck and knees, flapping in the wind as she ran. Similarly, the "pony's" tails flapped in the wind. Both her human hair, pulled into a braided ponytail and a color-matched tail attached to a butt plug inserted in her anus, giving her the impression of having a tail of her own to the common observer.

Behind her in the chariot, the rider was a short black-haired girl with an equally-determined face who held a single-tail whip, flicking it to snap the whip and signal directions, tugging a set of reins attached to her bit harness and giving her immediate directions, even amid all the ruckus and noise of the race. The rider was dressed provocatively, with a skin-tight set of white tights with frills at the waistline and her knees, the whole thing turned tan by all the dust, and a tiny tube-top with glittering gems set into it, her toned figure on display. For safety, she wore gloves and a helmet but that was all that seemed "normal" of her wear for the purposes of a horse race. She almost looked like a slutty cheerleader were she not riding a sleek cart pulled by a naked girl with a pony tail attached to her bottom.

Behind the duo, seven other girls, in varying states of nudity, pulled chariots with reckless abandon, desperate to catch the leading pair. The riders whipped their ponies harder, the ponies tugged with all their might, one even stumbling and collapsing at the back in a painful heap, groaning as she knew she was out of the race, her rider stepping from her chariot to admonishingly chastise her pony; her human pony.

And it was all for naught. For it was the last lap and there was no catching the blonde and black-haired duo at the front. They crossed the finish line and a shower of confetti fired off, decorating the dirty track with seemingly infinite colors, the few spectators cheering - even if their pony team hadn't won - and the winning duo slowed to a trot, the ponygirl's knees lifting high, breasts bouncing and hair bobbing, as she proudly pulled her rider around the track one last time in celebration, passing by the collapsed pony as she was picked up by her rider and support team and limped off the field. The hurt pony was brought off to a sort of stable, large stalls with numbers for each of the pony teams were available and she was quickly removed of her pony boots and a red sprain on her knee got some ice and tending-to immediately. There seemed to be some rush from the rider especially...

But all of that was mere sideshow as the winning duo arrived at the small podium. The black-haired girl hopped off as the 22-year-old, with dyed blue hair, ran up to help take the chariot off the saddle the ponygirl wore and set it aside, standing by as the rider hugged her victorious pony tightly before walking her to the podium where a camera crew waited, snapping shots of the tournament winner as the rider showed off her pony's assets. She made her pony bend over, pose, reached down to display the ponygirl's clean-shaven pussy and show off her tail-plugged bottom. The pony, though blushing, didn't seem to mind this treatment as she was photographed for the spectators interested in a permanent memoir of this event. In the various viewing boxes above the track, rich and elite spectators chattered excitedly for bets won or lost, pleased that their horse won the race or dismayed that theirs lost, but always there was next race, next season, next year, the next girl.

The blue-haired girl smiled wide as she pulled the chariot away and stood by, waiting for her team to come back from the photo-op and spoke in excited tones.

"Stella! You won! I can't believe it!"

The rider, helmet tucked under her arm while her other hand controlled her pony by the reins attached to her bit harness around her head, chuckled as she rubbed the younger girl's head. "I told you we had it in the bag this year. Six of the twelve races and we won the most important one; the last one. Cherry did a great job this season, didn't you girl?" She says, tugging the reins to bring her pony-booted mare forward and bending her down, affectionately rubbing the girl's neck and side as she wiggled and squirmed in excitement, the armbinder she wore significantly diminishing her mobility. But that didn't matter. She'd won. She'd pulled her rider, her trainer, to victory. That was all it had been for.

"But still! Race and season champion. If only Cherry Pie were sticking around another year..." The younger girl mused as she took the rider's helmet and gloves, helping her take the pony back to her stall in the stables.

"It's fine. Cherry had a great three years and she's wanting to retire. And... honestly, I am too. It's been fun and everything, but... it's a lot of work, and I think it's wearing on me. But hey, you've learned plenty these last years, maybe you'll replace me, Emma."

The blue-haired girl, Emma, paused in her tracks as Stella said she was retiring too. Right as she makes champion!? It didn't make sense. "That... how could you quit now though? A mare retiring, I get... it's a lot of work for the season, but a trainer?" Emma says, starting her pursuit again as she tries to figure out why her friend discusses her quitting. "Did you clear that through Rhea?"

"Of course she did."

Both girls, and the pony, spin in place to see where the stern voice came from. Approaching the trio, dressed in white riding pants, comfortable boots, a pink shirt tucked into her belt and a flannel buttoned-up to her bust was an older woman, perhaps in her sixties. Her face was showing its age with wrinkles and a stern set of scowl lines from years of disapproving of others. She strode right up to the trio before slowly cracking a smile, softening those scowl lines as she pats Stella on the shoulder.

"You did good, girl. Proud of you."

"Thank you, Rhea. I only got this far thanks to you." Stella says, grasping her mentor's forearm appreciatively.

Rhea scoffs, squeezing her student's shoulder before letting go. "Don't you forget it. And I'll miss you, it's been fun. More than paid off your on-boarding costs, especially with the purse for this race. You too, Cherry. Gonna miss those D-cups on the ranch, but you've earned an honest retirement." The older woman brazenly grabs one of Cherry Pie's tits, groping and tugging on the heavy orb with a level of casualness one might have for petting a dog. Simply... something she did. Cherry Pie, to her credit, barely reacted to having her bare, heaving tit groped and tugged. It was as if she were completely used to such treatment. Finally, Rhea releases the pony with a flick of her wrist, jerking her chin towards the pony's numbered stall. "Go on. Get the pony cooled down. Thorough massage, Stella. You're not done with your pony until the exit paperwork is signed. Take proper care of her."

"Yes, ma'am. Right away. Come, Cherry." Stella replies respectfully as she leads the human pony by the reins into the gated, but not private or obscured, stall. It barely reached the midsection, leaving Cherry's upper half fully visible to passersby.

That left Rhea with the other girl, Emma. She turned and flicked a finger, gesturing for Emma to follow as the pair walked by the other teams pulling their ponies into their stalls, the hustle and bustle of after-race activity masking the pair's conversation.

"So, Stella is leaving. Her spot will be open." Rhea said simply.

Emma glances at her. The girl had been, for lack of a better word, apprenticing under the older woman as a stable hand at her ranch, trying to build experience to maybe one day become a pony trainer herself. And if Rhea's ranch was going to be one trainer short...

"I haven't filled it. But I have gotten half a dozen requests from free agents to house their mare there for the season, along with room for the trainer. I've held off on them because, quite frankly, I like having an in-house representative among my stables. And with Stella leaving, I need someone who got raised on the ranch to represent me. I could call in one of my older proteges, the ones still active, and see if they want the spot... but-"

"I'll take it!" Emma blurted out, quickly catching herself as she realized she may have made an error.

Rhea, far more experienced, turned and smirked at the younger girl, knowing the same as she did. "And to take it, you'll need a mare, Emma. Do you have one who will be willing to work with you?"

Emma stewed in her boots as she stared at the concrete floor, shaking her head slowly. "N-no, ma'am... I'll... I can find one! I promise! I don't want to let you down..."

Rhea scoffed as the pair stepped out of the enclosed stable and into the afternoon sunshine. "It's not about letting me down, girl. It's about biting off more than you can chew." The pair walked by a trainer and her mare, the latter getting hosed off with a stream of water, her arms suspended above her in a sort of mounting post to expose her entire body. Naked, from top to bottom, with a cute little heart shaven into her pubic hairs and a branding mark on her left buttock to show her trainer's ownership. She blushed and squirmed as the two clothed women walked by and her trainer, a blonde girl with a lithe figure, waves at them in a friendly manner before chastising her mare for being shy in front of viewers. "You were just in a race and now you get shy? Grow up, Buttercup..."

Emma stops as Rhea turns around to face her, some distance from the pony showering station. "If... if I can find a mare, do you promise that I'll get to use that stall at your ranch, Rhea? I really want to make the most of the opportunity to show you what your training has done for me."

Rhea thinks it over for a moment before nodding. "Very well. I'll hold it for you. But on one condition. If you're still looking for a mare by the end of the second training week, I'll give it to another trainer and you'll be their stable hand for another season. No arguments."

Emma blushed. Stable hands usually got the grunt work. Polishing gear, cleaning stalls, coordinating gear and carriages, transport and the like. It wasn't glamorous, but for a well-off trainer they were a godsend as it let the trainer focus all their time on their pony and the training. Thinking it over, she nods again. "No arguments. I'll find a mare. Just you watch!"

Rhea snorts, clearly amused by her apprentice's enthusiasm, misplaced as it might be. "Good luck with that. Remember, find one who's going to be ready for the rigors of the position. And you'd better be ready to treat her hard and train her right. I won't tolerate underwhelming performance and training from one of my girls. Got it?"

Emma shivered at Rhea's stern glare as the old woman drew a cigarette case from her pocket, putting a self-rolled cigarette to her lips as Emma nodded.

"Good girl. Now go on and help Stella get Cherry cleaned up. Wager the little champion is going to be busy with celebrations." Rhea lights her cigarette and wanders off, waving her first two fingers at Emma over her shoulder while walking away. "Two weeks into training period, Emma. Don't be late. And, really, don't be late for the training at all if you can help it."

Emma stood there, staring at her mentor walking off with a thin trail of smoke emanating from her cigarette and hummed quietly. She turned and jogged back towards the stable, past the now-trio of ponies being washed at the shower station and towards Cherry Pie, currently alone in her stall with her reins tied off to a post. With her arms behind her back in a binder, she wasn't getting loose any time soon anyway, but it never hurt having someone to maintain proper control. Emma, head swimming, unties the reins and tugs them gently. "Come on, Cherry... let's get you washed up while Stella celebrates..." She turns and pulls the pony along behind her. Cherry Pie was a human girl a few years Emma's senior. She was tall and even more so in her custom-made pony boots, giving her three more inches and towering above most at 6 foot and 1 inch. At least, most normal folk. The other ponies ranged from 5'11" to 6'4". Cherry was adequately curvy, busty, a nice round bottom, pleasant to look at. But even as Emma leashed the girl to the shower post, washing her down as the naked, bitted mare squirmed and mewled into her brass bit, as she dried her off and felt her all over, and even as she walked her back into the stable to her waiting, blushing, tired-looking trainer, all Emma could think about was where she was going to find her own mare to train...