Pony Renaissance

Chapter 4

“Wot no butler, then milady?” I quipped as we entered the large entrance hall, which was not nearly as grand or as imposing as I thought it might be and with not an old family portrait to be seen nor a single suit of ornamental armour on a pedestal. Not even a moth-eaten stuffed Tiger or Moose head looking mournfully down from their respective wall mountings. 

“Jeeve is on his day off!” Mandy retorted promptly, leading the way into a large, comfortably furnished lounge. “Cut the milady stuff, or I might find a vacant stall in the stable for you, Honey”, she grinned, gesturing to a comfortable looking chair instead alongside a low oblong coffee table.

“That thought had crossed my mind as I drove over; I was a trifle wary,” I confessed as I sat down.

Mandy smiled at me as she jumped on to another armchair and sat down in the classic yoga lotus position, grinning at me. “Nah, I’ll get more fun from showing off my little empire and some of its reluctant inhabitants, I think.” She chuckled. “Anyway, what would I do with a tich like you, make you into a Shetland pony. I can’t see you pulling a cart. No offence intended”.

“Non taken, I suppose you don’t get many chances to show anyone around, at least not some of the more interesting aspects of your, er experimental farm research and development facility?”

Mandy laughed and reached for a small unattached bell press laying on the table and pressed it once. “You’ve been on Google maps, I see. Well, it does help to keep out the curious, mostly. I told Bob that adding the word experimental was not a good idea, but he would have it.  I was proved right a couple of times, although it has not always been a nuisance and has provided certain fringe benefits”.

“Fringe benefits?”

 “Yes, we’ve had a couple of visits from those animal rights loonies as well as some low life thieving scumbags who seemed to think that we’d leave valuable items just laying around. Maybe the latter were just chancers because the house is big, and they’d noted our perimeter security. Unfortunately for all of them, our electronic systems noted their entry before any harm was done. Expensive but very sophisticated. Where is that wretched girl?” Mandy pressed the bell again and, this time, held the button down for a few seconds before replying.”.

I heard the tap-tap sound of high heels moving quickly, and a moment later, a maid appeared breathless in the doorway, paused, then entered and promptly curtsied in front of Mandy, who scowled at her and then beckoned her forward with a crooked finger.

I looked at the girl or rather woman with interest. Mandy had said girl, but obviously, that was meant to belittle the woman who bobbed up from her curtsey and stood looking somewhat contrite and fearful in front of my impatient vexed host.

The newcomer immediately aroused my curiosity. An image of the archetypal frilly ‘French Maid’ shot into mind. The six-inch heeled glossy black stilettos were there; likewise, the seamed black stockings supported by numerous suspender straps stretching upward over pale white thighs. The silly little white cap perched on a mass of long dark auburn curls and dainty white lace wrist gloves were also present.  What was missing was the dress! Instead, she wore a very short black skirt with several layers of frilly white underskirt, everything sticking out somewhat like a ballerinas tutu.

The obligatory silly little apron was around her waist. Above that, the top part of the outfit had been replaced by a narrow and extremely tight waspie corset. Between that and a black leather posture collar swung a pair of heavy pendulous unsupported breasts capped by large areolas and thick pierced nipples sporting a heavy steel ring. Nor was she wearing any panties; instead, she’d been chastity belted with a metal device running up from between her legs and covering her shaven mons. Her make up I noted, was both extensive and immaculate. Foundation, lip gloss, eye shadow, mascara, eyeliner, the whole caboodle. God, it would take me half a morning to plaster that lot on my face should I ever be bothered!

As I stared at the woman, something else Mandy had casually mentioned at my kitchen table came to mind.  ‘You can add on another half dozen if you count the house slaves and pets as well’.  Was that what this woman was, a pet or a slave? She was no spring chicken being at least in her forties, possibly older.  Full figured and attractive, although possibly in part due to the war paint. Then again, I suspected that Mandy wouldn’t be interested in ugly, would she? I thought of Hercules and Samson, not in the house anyway!

Slave, undoubtedly I decided immediately for her bottom and thighs showed the telltale marks and scars of many beatings as did one large, heavy breast. It was white and displayed similar scars, although not to the same degree as her bottom. In contrast to the other breast, her left one was completely unblemished but was noticeably redder than its white scared twin. Odd!

Mandy’s eyes flicked from the woman in front of her to me and smiled. “Forgive me for a second if you would, Honey. A minor matter of domestic discipline to attend to first!”

I smiled politely and nodded.

“Twice I had to summon you, girl. Indeed I was on the point of inconveniently having to use the device for the third time when you eventually decided to put in an appearance” Her voice was chillingly cold. The woman was visibly shaking at the reproof I noted and thought about all those scars on her body. I could guess who had put them there or at whose whim she had suffered.

“I’m sorry, Madam, I was upstairs, Mrs Smythe told me to….”

Mandy was on her feet in an instant, her right-hand bitch slapping the women's face, forward-back and forward again. “Shut up, don’t you dare try to justify your inept tardiness, girl. I told you earlier did I not that I had a guest coming and to be ready. You should have told Mrs Smythe that you’d attend to her request later”.

I didn’t have a clue who Mrs Smythe was, but from the surprised expression on the woman's face, I got the impression that Mrs Smythe might not have appreciated such a response. Twixt devil and the deep blue sea came to mind as I watched the riveting little drama.

Mandy surveyed the trembling women, then snapped her fingers and pointed towards the open door. “You will go and bring coffee for two and a plate, no two small empty plates. Then you will report to Mrs Smythe, tell her that I noted your fat tit was losing its pretty colour again and that she is to attend to it at once, understand, girl? Good, then you may go”.

“Pretty colour?” I queried as Mandy smoothed down her white leggings and resumed her previous pose on the seat, tucking her long legs in with a degree of flexibility that I envied.  “Who is she, by the way?”

Mandy shrugged, seemingly unconcerned about what had just occurred. “One of my maids, the bitch tends to be somewhat lazy and has an unfortunate habit of forgetting her place, silly girl”.

“A little on the old side to be called a girl, isn’t she, and what’s this about the tit, do tell pretty please”, I implored.

Mandy laughed. “Habit, I always call them girl, age doesn’t come into it. I like it, and it puts them in their place, which is about half a step above those animals that I keep stabled out there. You noticed the variation between her fat saggy tits?”

I nodded. “One sort of battle-scarred and the other unsullied.”

“Battle-scarred” Mandy giggled at my description. “Hardly a battle, Honey. Scarred, I’ll grant but battle, no. I think I’ve long since whipped the fight out of that one. The tit reference, just another one of the little quirks that amuses me and at the same time reinforces my absolute control and authority that bit more!  One fat tit for my cane and whip, the other reserved exclusively for the rubber slapper. I usually let my housekeeper/cook do that for me.”

“Mrs Smythe”, I prompted.

“Exactly. An excellent cook and a first-rate housekeeper. Her husband is our groundsman and handyman. Like me, Susan has a zero-tolerance level when it comes to laxity and lazy behaviour. A rubber slapper enthusiastically applied can motivate the most slothful bitch with the minimum of damage, and Susan is a virtuoso with such an implement. She has far more patience than I have. I prefer the results of my corrective endeavours to be both visual and instantaneous!” Mandy chuckled. “Plus, there’s the fact that when the bitch sits in front of a big mirror making herself presentable, she can hardly avoid seeing that contrast which I find so amusing”.

“I take it she's some sort of slave, then? You mentioned something like that when you visited me when you were telling me about your ponies.”

Mandy snorted with amusement. “No sort about it at all. I own the bitch body and soul just as I own every damn one of them, be they animal or human,  O, W, N, own!”

I was silent for a moment, thinking about what she’d just said and about Sally out there with her two charges, the stable and others that I had not yet encountered. Animal, human and every one of them a reluctant abused captive. Mandy was observing me and foreshadowed my line of thought.

“Yes,” she said with a knowing smile. “Yes, I am a very wicked woman. An evil woman, a pervert of the first grade and what's more, I adore it. I am cruel, I am merciless, I am an out and out sadist, a hedonist,  a sexual deviant, a demon in human form, and you undoubtedly could apply a hundred other such wicked epithets to me.” She paused and leant back, putting both her hands behind her head and gazing at the ceiling.

“I flog, I whip, cane, paddle, tawse, crop often without mercy. I do it for my pleasure and the thrill of doing such to a helpless human being, one that I own body and soul. I torture, debase, dehumanise, animalise, do, or command others to do the vilest acts imaginable and all purely for my pleasure and amusement. All because I can and therefore do!”

She straightened up and leaned forward, regarding me intently. “Did I not say something to you in your stable when we fitted your splendid new pony into her hoofs? I pointed out as I recall that you’d already embarked upon a dark journey and that there was no turning back, not ever!”

I nodded and pursed my lips thoughtfully. “Yes, I realised that the very night just after I’d acquired them. I thought about it a lot,” I admitted quietly. “Up to that point, it had been a sort of, sort of fantasy game, but when they were both tied up and laying in my stable floor”, I stopped and looked at Mandy, who gave me a reassuring smile and softly spoke the words in my mind for me.

“Kidnapping, two potential life sentences in one of her majesties overcrowded decaying Victorian prisons, Honey.  Throw in the torture, rape and utter debasement, and they’d likely be those ‘whole life terms’ they give the worst offenders. Life with no chance of parole and probably in an institution for the criminally insane!”

I threw her a weak smile and was about to say something when the maid returned with a tray, carefully placing it on the table. Mandy impatiently waved her away and poured out two cups of coffee while I retrieved six bags of homemade biscuits from my bag and put them on the table. Mandy immediately grabbed one, ripped it open and deposited the contents on an empty plate. She took two and bit into one, then looked expectantly at me.

I took a sip of coffee and considered. “It's, well, I’m not sure”, I admitted, “not quite sure how to say what's in my mind.

“Shooggg,” sorry Mandy apologised, swallowing a mouthful of biscuit. “Just go ahead, Honey, shoot, let it out”.

I grinned at her. “Well, I mean, I don’t regard myself as a bad person”, I admitted. “I mean, I’ve done something terrible to those two girls and” I paused and gave her a sheepish smile, “ I have every intention of carrying on doing terrible things to them; even worse, I’ve barely started yet”.

Mandy helped herself to another biscuit. “That cute little bitch you crammed into the puppy suit. You going to keep her all to yourself or share her?”

“What do you mean?”

“Mandy dunked the remaining half of her biscuit in her coffee and then swallowed it in one go and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Delicious, but I’d better call a halt.” She leaned back in the chair again and slowly began to gently massage her left breast. “You have a big healthy young male pup, haven’t you, been neutered yet?”

“Uh uh,” I shook my head with an inkling now of where she was going.

Mandy continued to knead herself and said softly, “I think you know precisely what I mean by share, Honey. Believe me, it's one of the most, perhaps the most debasing things a cruel woman can do to another. More importantly, it's one hell of an erotic spectacle and a mega turn on. Non of your tiny low res out of focus, grainy internet porn stuff. Full-blown big randy dog on screaming outraged helpless bitch right before your eyes.  Lordy, think about how humiliating it must be for the woman you have condemned to that fate and for her to know that you are sitting there watching her suffer purely for your sexual entertainment”.

Mandy stopped rubbing herself and abruptly sat up straight again, assuming the customary sitting position. “Normal and yet so absolutely abnormal that was your initial trend of thought, was it not? Inside, you feel that you are still the same person, and yet you are not. Crisis of conscience, I believe they call it. We’ve all been there.  Sally initially even went as far as saying sorry each time she whipped one of her unruly beasts but not for long though.” Mandy laughed. “As you just witnessed! The demonstration of her authority over those creatures turned you on, didn’t it? I was watching you”.

“Very perceptive, on several counts,” I muttered, aware that I had a strong desire for my fingers also to start rubbing something both sensitive and pleasurable after her reference to little Fluffy and the mental image she’d drawn!

Mandy shrugged her shoulders and absently reached for the bell press again but toyed with it rather than pressing it. “Well, as I said, we’ve all been there.  How long have you had them now, five or six weeks, longer?”

I shook my head. “No, still less than a month”.

“No surprise then. It took me quite a while to adjust the first time Bob brought me here and took me over to the stables.“she paused and frowned at the recollection. “No, perhaps that’s not entirely correct,” she mused.”I can’t even recall being shocked, certainly surprised but not shocked, not at all! I was excited, intrigued, even aroused, those feelings I can recall but not disturbed conscience wise, not initially. I remember going over the following morning with his mother to get some ‘hands-on experience’, as she described it. The, eh, how shall I put it? The level of stock was considerably smaller back then. His mother had four ponies, two male and two female, while he had just the one, a handsome stallion he’d had since it was a lithesome colt. A present for his sixteenth birthday”.

Mandy paused, her eyes staring at nothing, her mind deep in the past, then she laughed. “I think his mother was relieved when he brought me home. He’d naturally sampled the charms of all the resident ponies. Hell, when you are a well-endowed randy young devil with hormones running rampant, why wouldn’t you when you have access to such helpless receptacles! No wanking under the bed covers with a torch and girlie mag for him!” she giggled.

“Why was his mother relieved?”

Mandy laughed. “Oh, I suspect she thought he was gay. I doubt if she’d have minded over much given how liberal her interests were, but she was old fashioned in one sense. The family line must continue! I don’t know why, for we are not ancient nobility, and if there ever was a title, then someone must have been careless and lost it long ago. Male or female for continuance, it mattered not, we have had a couple of Sir’s by the way but not for several generations.”

I waited while she sipped at her coffee, probably lukewarm by now. She made a sour face and continued, but I noticed that she pressed the button on the bell call she was still toying with.

“Grandchildren. Bob chose that young colt for his birthday present despite numerous attractive filly’s he could have had. He then spent a considerable amount of his spare time expending both energy and seed on and into his new ponyboy to the exclusion of all others, stabled or otherwise available. He continued to do so for several years. I was a relatively impoverished young model back then when someone introduced us at a party. I wasn't overly taken with him, but the whisper of ‘substantial old money’ prompted a second date, money-grubbing slut that I was. I’d sampled the high life on a couple of exotic photoshoots and wanted more. By the time he invited me to his home, I’d discovered that money wasn’t the only substantial endowment he possessed!

I suspected that I was the first girl he’d ever taken home, and I hit it off with his mother right from the moment we arrived. Damn shrewd women, for I think she assessed me correctly from the very beginning, money, comfort and perhaps a penchant for exotic, unusual fun! By lunchtime the next day, as we walked back from the stable, we’d become great pals. She confirmed that I was the first girl Bob had ever brought home.” Mandy stopped and giggled.   “I’d had so much fun with a whip, and the ponies, so I quickly assured her that I would also be the last! We got on even better after that. Poor Marjorie passed away seven years ago, cancer”.

I mouthed the customary meaningless condolences, but Mandy and lapsed into reflective silence. The quick tip-tap of approaching stiletto heels immediately brought her out of her brief reverie. A moment later, the maid appeared in the doorway and performed that deep obsequious curtsy before us. Mandy beckoned her forward.

“Let me see, girl”.

The woman moved towards us, bending forward, allowing Mandy to see and then grasp her pendulous left breast. I watched as she ran her fingers over the orb, squeezed it and then tapped it with a couple of fingers. Her actions were causing the woman some distress, for I could quietly hear her whimper, yet she made no move to withdraw or protest.

“Mmm, sore and that pretty shade I so like to see, but maybe it’s the light in this room or my imagination, but it looks a little undercooked,” Mandy said and turned to me. “What do you think, Honey. A little longer back under the grill, perhaps? Go show your fat droopy tit to my guest, girl!”

The woman obediently did as ordered and offered her self to me for inspection. Her immaculately made-up eyes avoided mine, but just for a second as she turned, I saw the shame and mortification in them. I  wondered how long she’d been in that household?  Judging by the scars on her other breast, bottom and thighs for quite a long time, I thought.

There was no resistance as my palm closed over the tempting offering more the opposite; she pushed herself forward slightly so that the firm nipple and soft flesh filled my outstretched hand. It was warm to the touch but was that natural body heat, or did it radiate from sore, tender flesh recently seared by a rubber slapper?

I looked over at Mandy, but her expression told me nothing; she merely raised her eyebrows slightly in a silent questioning gesture. My decision she was telling me. I wondered if it was some sort of silly exam, a polite invitation to a guest or merely something routine. A mixture of all three, perhaps? My fingers applied a little pressure, and I heard the woman wince quietly, yes very tender and trembled so wonderfully. I made my mind up.

“I’m sure a  little longer won’t spoil the meat,” I said, delighting in the way that trembling instantly quadrupled in intensity if not more!

Mandy snapped her fingers. “Go tell Mrs Smythe that Madam is disappointed and feels a little more heat needs to be applied to the meat. My exact words, Girl and if I hear different later, I won’t be at all happy, and we know what that leads to, don’t we. Now go, scoot!”

I watched the unhappy woman hurry away. “Was that some sort of a test?” I queried.

“Test?” Mandy sounded surprised. “Good gracious, no, not at all. Did you think it was?”

I laughed. “I don’t know what to think. You're a very complex woman, you know”.

“Me”, the eyebrows lifted again. “Complicated, you think so? No, I’m very straightforward and open. I was not happy with that lazy bitches punishment and took the appropriate action, with your assistance, of course. Nothing complicated about that!”

“What if I had been lenient?”

Mandy smiled triumphantly. “Ah, but I knew you wouldn’t be, nor was it a case of trying to impress me. I simply used her to prove a point. You may be having those silly thoughts vis a vis right or wrong, light or dark, good or evil, but let's face it, Honey. You are just as cruel, just as wicked, just as perverted as I am. You'll get over those guilty feelings just as I did.”

I thought of the maid probably writhing in agony right that minute because of me. Did I feel guilty? No. If anything, I wouldn’t have minded watching or even doing a bit of tit slapping myself.

“I felt the same for a while”, Mandy elaborated. “That first morning in the stable with Bob's mother was such fun, as was the rest of my first visit. Hell, I spent far more time with his mother and her ponies than I did with him, poor chap. It was only when I returned to, let's call it, real-life in inverted commas that I began to feel a bit awkward about what I’d been doing. It was a strange feeling of separateness, of being the same person and yet two entirely different people at the same time almost. Was I even the same sweet girl everyone seemed to like? Was I even me anymore?”.

I nodded eagerly. “That’s it exactly! That’s exactly how I feel.”

Mandy laughed. “Well, I can tell you the answer is yes. You are still the same person. Maybe you do feel like you’ve grown two heads, but they'll merge into one soon enough. Familiarity breeds contempt, the old saying goes, which probably sums up my attitude toward those creatures I own. Whether or not they ended up under my whip by their own foolishness or were merely unlucky is immaterial. My whip does not distinguish nor show mercy” Mandy paused and broke off into a peal of loud laughter.

“My doesn’t all that sound pompous! Anyway, if your conscience bothers you, I always remember what Bob’s mother said to me when I mentioned the same to her during my second visit. “Think on it as doing them a favour. Why, the poor creatures ought even to be grateful. Think how complicated their lives could be compared to the simple, carefree lifestyle I provide for them here. Food, water, healthy exercise, a roof over their heads, and they don’t even have to think for themselves, do they?”

I laughed. “Yes, I’m sure they appreciate it along with the whip, the harness, the tedious existence, the shit tubes up their asses and all the other fringe benefits you provide!”

Mandy giggled and rose from her chair. “Come on then, let me show you around and maybe indulge in a few fringe benefits and relive a few of them of that tedium for a bit”.

*****

“Didn’t get lost then”, Mandy laughed.

“My God, this place is ginormous!” I exclaimed, rejoining my host after a quick but urgently needed bathroom break.

“The old homestead was somewhat rundown when I first came here. Bob’s a bit of a miser when it comes to certain things, such as dragging an eighteenth-century crumbling pile of masonry into the present century. Marjorie was similar. Both prepared to spend a fortune acquiring a new pony but stopped short of attending to the plumbing or keeping the rain out! I took a can opener to his wallet the very hour we returned from the honeymoon and started the revamp. Even so, we still haven't got so far as installing a downstairs loo. Even after twenty-odd years! The roof did get fixed, though,” she added with a grin.

I noticed some photographs on a nearby dresser by the doorway and stopped to point at them. “You mentioned Grandchildren earlier?”

“Two,” Mandy replied. “Couple of years apart. Bob junior and Georgina. BJ is over in the states, California, works for a major film company as an Assistant Director or some such title. Rapid promotion because his girlfriend is an actress and her dad owns the company.  Georgie is on her gap year, backpacking around Australia at the moment with her bestie. Both of them take after my side of the family, somewhat leggy, thank goodness”.

“Nice looking kids”, I replied politely, looking over the collection of photos in silver frames. Real silver, I suspected. Most were no different from what you would see in any family home, including a couple that were obviously ‘official school photo’ types. Several more unusual ones caught my eye that were decidedly alien compared to the traditional family photo ensemble.

One, in particular, showed a close up of a very pretty young teenage girl dressed in a riding hat and smart equestrian jacket beaming, a huge smile at me slightly marred by the braces on her teeth. She held a sizeable two-handled trophy decorated with a red rosette with a large number one and the single word, Champion. Next to it in a larger frame was the same shot but the complete picture. I recognised Mandy looking no older than she did now but drop-dead gorgeous in a chic flouncy white summer dress and a broad-brimmed hat. Bob was there too, his smaller frame looking very dapper in a grey top hat and morning suit and floral buttonhole as though the pair of them had an invite to the Queen's enclosure at the prestigious Royal Ascot race meeting.

All three of them were smiling at the camera. The fourth member of the group, between the proud parents, stood a tall ponygirl upon which sat the triumphant young girl.  Her mount was not smiling despite a similar rosette pinned to her white mud-splattered harness. A large bit dangled loosely from one side of her bridle; her face was contorted into an open-mouthed grimace while her wide staring eyes also looked at the camera but with anguished hatred, not pride. Maybe she would have preferred to look away, but Mandy stood to her left, one arm raised firmly, grasping the ponies bridle tightly in one lacey white-gloved hand.

“Three-day event champion”, Mandy declared proudly. “Bit of a misnomer actually because it's all done over two days but the same three events. Dressage first, then we transpose cross-country and jumping. It’s a real good test of stamina, and a riders skill to finish with the cross-country event against the clock with points deducted for failed or missed jumps. Georgie and Jessica did brilliantly in the dressage section, and so they should as we’d put hours into perfecting that routine. Then the bloody animal let us down in the jumps, which should have been its best event and racked up a few too many penalty points.” She paused, grimaced and rolled her eyes, then tapped the picture.

“All came good on the last stage. We were back in fifth place for the event but a nasty fall and a dismount, one retired hurt plus Georgie’s relentless application of crop and spurs, and we finished two points ahead of Silver Star to take the gold medal. Brilliant bit of riding. I was very relieved; I thought the way she was going, she’d take a tumble and hurt herself, but she pulled it off brilliantly!”

”The pony looks a little the worse for wear”, I noted, looking at the sweat and filth on it, likewise the results of her daughter's ‘relentless application of crop and spurs’. Trickles of blood were running down its long legs, and both udders heavily stripped and marked with the imprint of the crops leather flap. My use of the word little was very much an understatement.

Mandy shrugged dismissively. “Oh, Jessica was a bit blown, that’s all. We gave her a good rub down and left her bit out so’s she could get her breath back. Georgie gave her a big hug and a few treats by way of thanks. Anyway, if she’d performed over the jumps as she should have, then Georgie wouldn’t have had to lay it on so heavy later.” She paused for a moment, then shrugged again. “Well, maybe she might have; she’s got a very competitive streak in her at times! Anyway, she repeated her triumph the following year by a far wider points margin which was what we anticipated when we selected her pony.”

“Selected?”

Mandy nodded. “Bob and I had been on the lookout for a while for a suitable pony for Georgie so that she could compete in various gymkhana events that are held occasionally. Purely by chance, we attended one of those corporate sports events, hospitality from a company Bob was involved with business-wise. You know the sort, all summer frocks, champagne and dainty prawn sandwiches. An international athletic meeting, although we only attended the last day, the finals and so on. It was something of a secondary event, so no big names, mostly just nobodies.  Spotted her straight off.”

“Jessica?”

Mandy rapped a fingernail against the ponygirl in the photo. “Heptathlon, finished seventh in the final, ticked all the right boxes and quite a pretty filly to boot as a bonus. Australian. They tend to make good ponies if you want one with a bit of fighting spirit! That was one of the things high up on our list, an animal with fire in her belly that we could harness, no pun intended”.

I examined the photo with interest looking at that miserable creature more thoroughly. “How old was she?”

Mandy threw her hands in the air. “Oh heavens, I can’t remember. They’ll be a record over in the stable office, but offhand? How old would Georgie have been  when that was taken.” She pondered for a moment. “Jessica must have been about nineteen, twenty back then, so I suppose that would put her in her late twenties now, wouldn’t it? That seems about right, of course; she looks older now, but then they always do!”

I looked from Mandy to the photo again and then back to my host. “She’s still here?” I exclaimed.

“Why ever not” Mandy looked puzzled. “She was a strong, healthy filly, great set of lungs on her and everything else in A1 condition. Why shouldn't she still be here?”

“I just thought, well, your daughters will be a lot older now, and, well…” I trailed off.

Mandy laughed and wagged a cautioning finger in my direction. “A pony isn’t just for Christmas, or in this case a birthday, Honey. Keep that firmly in mind now you have one yourself. Anyway, we’d gone to considerable expense to acquire the animal. No, Georgie repeated her success the following year, as I said, but eventually, she grew a bit too big for Jessica to carry other than short recreational trips. I mean, she takes after me, tall but certainly no heavyweight. Then we trained her for the pony racing cart, and they added a few more rosettes and ribbons to the collection.

I tend to include the animal with mine now as a racing pony, but Georgie is still very fond of Jessica.  I won’t say that she has abandoned her, but she has other things on her mind now, as do most girls her age. Always takes her for a few long runs whenever she is home to make sure she’s well exercised. A considerate girl, although I doubt that Jessica would agree. Georgie likes to remind the animal who her true owner is, and her whip ensures she leaves an impression that lasts long after she’s departed elsewhere!”

Mandy winked at me with that last remark and waved a hand towards the photos. Anyway, enough of this. Those others are mostly family outings on the estate, picnics and such. Mummy, Daddy, Granny Marge, two kids plus Growler Gran's pet pooch, not forgetting our preferred mode of transport, of course,” She laughed and, taking me by the arm, steered me out and into the hall.

“Growler”, I queried, “that wasn’t a real dog, was it?”

Mandy giggled and gave me that mischievous wink for the second time. “Depends on your definition of real! So far as Marjorie and the kids were concerned, he was nor did he have any choice in the matter! Come on, stable time and then we’ll take a couple of carts for a nice spin in the company of a cold bottle and a picnic basket. Maybe you should take Jessica yourself. Well trained with a good turn of speed still, nor has she entirely lost that fire in her belly.