by Snidely

Illustrated by Tarsus

Originally Published in Bondage Life No. 32, May 1988

Transcribed and Scanned by guardian46w, Monday, July 23, 2018

Story Codes: F/ff, bdsm, bondage, rope, chains, cuffs, shackles, gags, rivals, spies, n/con, captive, enslave, pony, race, public, X

Mariko and Courtney thought they'd seen enough bondage to last a lifetime.  They hadn't seen anything yet!  Their epic adventures, which began in Bondage Life 31 continues…

Chapter Three

The Great Race

OR

Did Someone Say There Was A Horse Shortage?

In the weeks that followed, Mariko and Courtney came to realize the true nature of their captivity.  From the beginning they had been so dazzled, so stunned by the whole experience that there had been no chance of making sense of it all.  It had seemed as if Allison’s entire estate existed for one purpose only, to make their lives miserable.

With time, they began to understand that much of what they saw and experienced was a façade, an act put on for their benefit.  All of the people who handled them, the stable hands, the trainers, the dressers, the makeup lady, all of them had other, more normal jobs to attend to most of the time.  While some of them truly enjoyed their roles dominating and controlling the captive girls, others considered it a silly game, an indulgence in Allison’s eccentricity.

This they learned from the makeup lady, who, in an unguarded moment, expressed her feelings on the matter while talking on the phone to a friend.  She’d been in the next room and hadn’t realized that the two strapped and gagged girls could hear every word she said.

Something else they realized was that, while everything they experienced seemed ridiculous, mere bits of cruel whimsy, beneath it all there was actually some hidden purpose to it.  Allison sometimes made vague references to a “training program” and she liked to call it the “B&D Academy” though just what that meant they had no idea.  Their daily regimen was as strict as if they were in training, and it seemed to include scheduled events.

There seemed to be some pretense that it was a riding academy, but the girls rarely saw a horse, and when they did ride they were never in control.  The pretense was merely an excuse to get them into tight riding pants and knee boots, they suspected, and to justify all the leather harnesses and paraphernalia they were made to wear.  All their trainers carried riding crops and used them fairly liberally on the girls’ buttocks and flanks during the course of their training.

For four weeks their training continued, and throughout all of it, Mariko and Courtney were never once allowed to converse with each other.  They were bathed and tended alone, they slept alone, and during the day they were always gagged.  They could relay basic emotions and sympathize with each other through facial expressions, but never could they compare notes, discuss their situation, or make any coordinated plans for escape.

As the days dragged on, Mariko felt more and more guilty that she had gotten her friend Courtney involved in this.  She wanted in some way to reassure the girl, and sometimes she even wanted to confess everything to her, tell her about her deal with Ivan Rosovitz and how it had gotten them into this mess.  She was certain that when this was all over, Ivan would take care of Courtney as well as herself.  It was the least he could do after all they had been through for him.

Mariko wanted at least to let her friend know why she was being put through all this, and that it would be all right when it was over.  If only she could be alone with Courtney, without the ever-present gags in their mouths.  But that just never seemed to happen.

There was a mystery that plagued Mariko as well.  Allison’s estate was quite well equipped for the handling of girls who were “in training”.  The staff seemed to consider it commonplace to see them being led around the grounds bound and gagged at the end of a harness and their handlers seemed experienced.  References were often made in their presence to previous “trainees”.  So, where were they?

Where had they come from and more importantly, what had become of them after their training?  Mariko had never seen anyone else being kept in bondage.  If there had been a number of girls before them, where were they now?  What had been their offense, that they should be put through this?  Surely there weren’t that many spies caught within the B&D Cosmetics Corporation.

When Allison couldn’t catch anyone red-handed, did she steal girls off the street?  These were some of the questions that bothered Mariko, particularly where they applied to her own situation.  Assuming she never broke down and confessed to Allison, which she had no intention of doing, what would happen to her and Courtney?

It had been nearly a month since that awful ride they had taken with Allison.  Their trainers had begun to prepare them for some big event that was referred to as “The Big Race”.  Mariko had no idea what it meant, but she gathered that it marked the end of their training at the “B&D Academy”.  When the day came, she still had no idea what to expect.

Mariko found herself, as she had so many times now, naked and attached to the dressing bench.  The chromium apparatus held her securely in place while her attendants dressed her for the big event.  As they worked, there was an air of expectancy that had never been there before.  Whatever was in store for her, Mariko knew it was important to everyone else.  Somehow, she was unable to summon up any feelings but dread and anxiety.  As usual, no one asked or cared how she felt.

First, she was fitted with a leather head harness.  This was equipped with side blinders and a pair of swivel attachments at her temples.  While the several buckles were being adjusted, a black shirt with long sleeves was being slid up her arms.  It was made of Gore-Tex, and as it was zipped up in back, it hugged her body skin tight.

Black gloves were put on her hands, and she noticed without surprise that they didn’t include thumbs.  Next a heavy and complicated body harness was lifted onto her shoulders, and all three of her dressers set about cinching and buckling the many straps that held it in place.  As it was cinched tightly about her, it seemed almost as if it had been made specifically for her, it fit so snugly, but Mariko figured that this was probably only because it had so many adjustment straps.

Her arms were brought behind her and folded into the small of her back, where they were neatly strapped into perfectly formed indentations in the harness.  When she turned her head to look, Mariko noticed a pair of metal brackets that stuck out about eight inches from the top of her shoulders, right behind her head, and ended in metal loops.  She couldn’t imagine what it could be for, but by now she was used to being fitted with things she didn’t understand.

The harness had studded leather shoulder boards, more fittings, buckles and rings than she could count, and a studded triangular piece with a dangling strap that hung below her belt.  This part she had no trouble figuring out.

Now skin-tight Gore-Tex pants were being pulled up her legs.  She braced herself and sure enough, the small seat of the contraption that held her, dropped out from under her just as she had known it would.  Then the tight leggings were being worked up around her waist, and Mariko realized with a sinking feeling that the backside of them had been cut away in two neat round holes to expose the bare flesh of her bottom cheeks.

This, she thought, is definitely shaping up to be a particularly unpleasant experience.  Then one of her dressers took the strap that dangled from the studded triangle and threaded it between her legs, then through an adjacent buckle at the back of her belt.  As this strap was pulled tight, it was brought to her attention that the triangle between her legs was equipped with one more stud than was visible from the outside.  After the initial surprised gasp, she was able to regain her composure.

Now her boots were being slid onto her feet.  They were black leather thigh boots, but the tops were folded down to reveal several straps and buckles.  These were buckled tightly around the tops of her calves just below the knees to ensure that the boots would stay in place before the tops of them were unrolled to reach to about mid-thigh.  The boots had five-inch heels, which was low compared to some of the shoes Mariko had been strapped into during the past month.

As she was looking down at them, she was ordered to raise her head, and a thick leather yoke-like collar was brought under her chin and strapped around her neck.  It snapped into place on the body harness and came up so high under her ears and around the back of her neck that she found she could no longer turn her head even a little.

Then a rubber bit was placed firmly in her unresisting mouth, and the braces at the sides were snapped onto the swivels at her temples.  Two long narrow leather straps dangled from the braces, and these were drawn back and threaded through the brackets that projected out from her shoulders.  Mariko was now effectively bridled, and a couple of experimental tugs on the reins by one of the dressers pulled the solid rubber bit back between her teeth and pulled at the corners of her mouth.  This, thought Mariko, is definitely not going to be one of my better experiences.

She was now, apparently, ready for the race.  She was disengaged from her dressing bench and led by her reins out into the hall.  The ride in the little electric golf cart was uneventful, and eventually she was brought to the racetrack.  She had been here before, but at the time it had been to ride a horse.  This time, Mariko suspected there would be no horses.

She was right.  As she was led into the track, she saw that Courtney had already arrived.  The pretty blonde was trapped out in a harness just like Mariko’s in design but colored differently.  Where Mariko wore black leather over black Gore Tex, Courtney wore a harness and boots of tan leather over white Gore Tex.  Mariko blushed when she saw how obviously her friend’s bare butt stuck out through the neat round holes in her white leggings and realized how much more obvious her own must be surrounded by black.

Courtney was already being harnessed to a strange little three-wheeled cart.  It was bullet-shaped and looked like a side-car for a motorcycle.  The tongue to which Courtney was being attached projected from the side of the cart and ended in a bracket that appeared to be made for this purpose.  The cart was white like Courtney’s costume, and beyond it was a similar cart in black.

Beside the racetrack stood several decks of covered bleachers, which were already starting to fill with people.  As Mariko was led over to her cart, she was painfully conscious of the exposed cheeks of her backside.  When a little cheer went up from the crowd in the bleachers, she didn’t know if it was for her or for her bare bottom, but she assumed the latter.

As Mariko was being hooked up to the tongue of her car, for a moment she was turned toward the bleachers, and she scanned the crowd there.  She was not surprised to see that she recognized several of the people as being members of the house staff, now wearing casual clothing.  But then she spotted a group that made her gasp in astonishment.  There were girls in bondage up there!  Pretty young women with gags covering their mouths, their arms out of sight behind them, and one with a collar and leash which was being held by a well-dressed gentleman who sat beside her.

Mariko had only a glimpse of them, but as she was turned back around her mind was swirling.  Could those girls in the bleachers be alumni of the “B&D Academy”?  could that be the fate that she and Courtney could expect after this, to spend the rest of their days bound and gagged, being led around on leashes?  Would they be given to Allison’s friends, or sold like slaves?  Or might Allison be planning on keeping them for herself?  She did seem to enjoy her games with them immensely.

Mariko was shaken out of her conjectures by the arrival of Allison.  The slender redhead popped out of the limousine the moment it had stopped, before the driver could get to her door, and stood in the sunlight grinning with typical vivacity and girlish exuberance.  She was dressed all in black, with riding boots, tight leggings, and a full blousy shirt with barrel sleeves.  Around her neck she wore a black bandana cowboy-style, and she carried a riding crop in her black-gloved hand.

Behind her another woman appeared, a strikingly beautiful woman with long, wavy black hair.  She was voluptuous of figure, though certainly not overweight, and she wore an outfit similar to Allison’s except that it was all white, with tan leather riding boots.

Together, the two of them sauntered over to where Courtney and Mariko were being prepared, their eyes sparkling with good humor.  Allison waved to the people in the stands and was rewarded by a loud cheer.  When they arrived, they each inspected their cart and the girl attached.  It had been obvious by the color of the costumes which one was theirs, and Mariko tried not to look at Allison’s cheery face as she was inspected.

Allison checked all the fittings scrupulously, tugging at all the straps to make sure they were tight.  Satisfied, she slapped Mariko’s naked right bun and chuckled.  Since Mariko couldn’t turn her head and the blinders prevented any peripheral view, Allison moved in front of her to look at Mariko face to face.

“This is going to be a great race,” she said.  “You and your friend Courtney are both in top shape, and it’s a splendid day for racing.  When the starting gun goes off, I want you to jump.  We need to be first off the line.  Courtney is a little bigger than you, with longer legs, so they have the advantage over the long haul.  On the other hand, I’m lighter than her jockey, so we can be quicker.”

With a gentle hand, she adjusted Mariko’s bit between her teeth.  “Just run as fast as you can.  Don’t worry about steering, I do that part.  All you have to do is supply the motive power.  The trick is to lean into the harness but keep your head up.  I can remind you to keep it up by pulling on the reins; if you clench the bit between your teeth it won’t hurt at the corners of your mouth.  If I drag your head all the way back, that means it’s time to stop, but I won’t be doing that until after we’ve crossed the finish line.”

Now Allison leaned close, her voice going low, “I intend to win this race.  I have some friends in the stands whom I haven’t seen in years, and this race is important to me for their sake.  If I don’t win, I’m going to make you very sorry, IMMEDIATELY!”

As she stepped away, the grin returned to her face.  “Now that we understand each other,” she said cheerily, “Let’s have a good clean race.”

Allison vaulted into the seat of the little car, which was plushly appointed in black sheepskin.  She took the reins in one hand and the ridding crop held loosely in the other and with a light flip of the reins signaled Mariko to go forward.

As she leaned forward and thrust out with her lithe, strong legs, the cart creaked and began to roll.  Allison evidently had a pair of pedals in the cart for steering, and she guided it in a wide circle so she could wave again to her friends in the stands before moving into position at the starting line.

With the cart in motion, Mariko became acutely aware of her position, both the vulnerability and the humiliation of it.  Allison rode comfortably right beside her, lounging on her sheepskin seat while Mariko, tacked out and harnessed like a horse, would have to sweat and strain to propel them around the track.  And there were her bare bottom cheeks, of which she was still very much aware, and Allison’s lolling hand with the riding crop in it very handy indeed.

As they rolled up to the starting line, they found Courtney’s cart there waiting for them, her beautiful dark-haired jockey grinning over her shoulder at them and tapping her crop against the side of the cart as if she were impatient.  They pulled slowly in alongside the other, and Allison pulled back on the reins as if she needed to tell Mariko to stop.  Mariko hadn’t been prepared for that and the bit dug into the tender corners of her mouth.  Ruefully, she got a tighter grip on it with her teeth.

A hush fell over the crowd in the stands.  Mariko set her feet and leaned forward, preparing for a fast takeoff.  Her vision narrowed by the side-blinders, she couldn’t tell if Courtney were doing the same, or if there was any nonverbal communication between the jockeys.

Then, suddenly, a gun went off, and a half second later she felt the first bite of the crop across the soft roundness of both cheeks.  They were off!

Mariko must have been boosted by a sudden surge of adrenaline, for they were off to a powerful start and still accelerating, and she didn’t remember having to put much effort into it.  Now she applied herself with all the willpower she could muster and could feel their speed increasing even more.  She became vaguely aware now of Allison’ verbal urging to “go, go, go, go, goooo!” and of the rhythmic slap and sting of the riding crop on her pumping buttocks, which had evidently been going on the whole time, unnoticed in the rush of the takeoff.

For several seconds as they rounded the first turn of the track, Mariko felt something akin to exultation.  The wind was rushing against her face, her body was running smoothly and gazelle-like, her heart was pumping, and the constant bite of the crop on her bare backside barely hurt at all, seemed almost to add to her speed with its subtle urging.

In spite of everything she felt a strange sense of freedom in being able to run, to stretch her legs out in an easy, unhobbled gait for the first time in over a month.  And she was winning!  She was so far ahead that she couldn’t even hear the other cart behind them.

In came as a surprise to Mariko when, a little over halfway down the far straightaway, Courtney passed her on the inside.  Mariko watched her friend in amazement.  Courtney’s body was taut and straining, desperate urgency and determination in her attitude as she plunged ahead.  Mariko stared for a moment in fascination at Courtney’s working backside, watched it tauten, flex, jiggle, tauten, flex, jiggle, one cheek then the other as she ran, the crop adding a staccato giggle to the rhythm as it fell.

Then suddenly she felt a new sting of urgency as the blows to her own bottom cheeks increases in both strength and rhythm.  At once she realized that she was dropping behind, and that the farther behind she got, the more angrily Allison flailed at her.  And she remembered her red-headed mistress’ threat and knew that if it came to pass, Allison would be cruel and vengeful indeed, for if there was one thing Mariko knew about Allison, it was the fact that she couldn’t stand to lose.

Now Mariko began to push herself with a desperation she had never know before.  She remembered how Courtney had looked when she had passed her, and she tried to match that intensity.  She gave it everything she had, and still she wasn’t gaining on the cart ahead.  She tried for more speed, more determination, but it just wasn’t there and still the crop rained stinging blows against her defenseless backside, still her feet pounded the track, and yet she realized she couldn’t make up the distance between her and Courtney.  And suddenly her futile desperation blossomed into a warm blanket of surrender.  She was losing the race, she wouldn’t catch up to Courtney, she would have to accept Allison’s punishment, and none of it mattered anyway.  She was slipping into a feeling of total submission, and even the impact of the crop didn’t hurt any more.

Then, inexplicably, something happened up ahead.  She found out later that Courtney had stumbled, just a single misstep, but it had thrown off her rhythm, broken her concentration, and suddenly she was dropping back.

Mariko was beyond caring and didn’t even realize at first what it meant when her cart pulled ahead just in time to cross the finish line.  Suddenly the bit between her teeth came alive, tugging her head back, and she remembered that she was supposed to stop now.  Gradually she slowed down, gazing at the sky, letting her mistress guide the cart.  She was only vaguely aware of the cheers, the people crowding around her when she finally did stop, the tongue of the cart being detached from her harness.

The sense of submission that she had felt on the track had been so over powering that she was in a daze.  The feeling was all but gone now, yet she still felt it somewhere within her, or maybe it was just the memory of it.  She wanted it back but couldn’t quite reach it.  Slowly she spiraled back down to reality, became aware of her panting, heaving body, of the muted heat radiating from her buttocks, of Allison’s soft words of comfort as she wiped the tears from Mariko’s eyes with her bandana.  With a little wordless cry, she buried her head in Allison’s shoulder, not caring who saw her, not caring that Allison was her enemy.

After a while, Allison pushed her firmly but gently away from her, and led her away from the track.  The short ride in the limo was made in silence.  By the time they arrived back at the house, Mariko was beginning to wonder what had happened to her, and how it would affect her future.  She felt changed somehow, and she felt a need to understand how.  She knew that Allison understood what had happened, but before she could figure out how to ask her, the ride was over and she was being hustled out of the car and into the house.