Chapter 2

It must be admitted that Brazilians are not known for their punctuality, so it was surprisingly close to the advertised time when the signal sounded for the riders to go to the starting position. Famously laid back in many ways, Brazilians are razor sharp where betting takes place, so the rules of ‘The Triple’ are keenly enforced. Once all the competitors are gathered at the starting point, the signal is given and the riders free to start in their own time, as the race is against the clock there is no need for them all to bunch together for a racing start, especially given the risk of injury to horses and riders in such a melee. The actual start line is a hundred yards further than the start position, this is to give the riders time and distance to get their stallions settled into the trotting pace they must then maintain or be disqualified.

It is perhaps time to review the rules now, before the race starts.

The first criteria and the one for which most riders train, is a simple test of endurance. The horse must maintain the trotting pace, even a momentary change of pace to walk or canter will have the horse and rider instantly disqualified. Every rider is free to simply stop at any time, doing so signals the end of their attempt and their time is noted, the rider/horse with the longest time wins the endurance race.

The second criteria and the other one some riders train for is the fastest lap. Each rider/horse is timed throughout the race every time they cross the start line. Obviously the fastest lap completed wins, however it isn’t that simple, the faster the trot the easier it is to accidentally slip into a canter, added to that is the risk of the extra speed triggering the horse’s need to cum from the extra stimulation. It is almost impossible for a horse to maintain any pace whilst cumming so if it happens the result is almost certainly disqualification. Those who attempt it have spent many long hours fast trotting beneath their stallions, few are dedicated enough to suffer the long painful hours and the constant internal bruising that results from prolonged fast trotting.

Third and last is the one very very few riders even attempt to train for, being deeply impaled is dangerous, too deep and the internal injuries are often fatal. If a rider is impaled enough to require surgery or any serious medical attention they are disqualified, this rule prevents those who might otherwise be literally dying to win. Usually this prize is awarded to the rider/horse combination who by accident of birth are able to take a deeper impalement than is normal. It is the criteria most carefully scrutinised and least competed for. Often the winner is obvious from the measuring and those who bet are consequently able to obtain only poor odds for the obvious favourites. It is also the only prize that over the years has regularly been won by the same rider/horse combination two or more years in succession.

At the top of the main stand in one of the best private boxes stood Ray Youngson. A pair of powerful binoculars to hand, their size required a tripod to support them whilst allowing comfortable use. His guests kept their distance, aware from his demeanour that he was to be left alone. Very few of his guests had been aware that he had a daughter although all had met his son at least once. That he should invite them to watch his daughter compete was a puzzle none fully understood. Ray himself had at first thought to take the box for himself alone, but the realisation that this would be the first time he had ever attended upon his daughter’s performance in anything stopped him dead. He delighted in simply watching his son play, even as a baby, that and his honest intent to try to be worthy of his daughter drove him to invite a broad range of friends from industry and legislature. He had seen into his daughters eyes, he would no longer deny her existence or ignore her achievements.

Through the powerful binoculars he watched as Eloa assisted Jess into the sling.

Juan scowled as Eloa adjusted the modified sling, he recognised it’s purpose but accepted that it was far too late to voice any objection, let alone interfere with the will of his princess. The modified sling once tightened pulled Jess up tight against her stallion’s belly, once her wrists and ankles were fully bound it would make any movement almost impossible, properly adjusted that greatly lessened the risk of impalement as the combination of close coupling and the standard safety strap that checked rearward movement would hold her exactly in position. Eloa completed her work and slapped Jess gently on the thigh, kissed the exact same spot and taking the lead rein from Juan, set off to lead Jess to the starting point.

It was only as they walked away that Juan spotted the safety strap laying on the grass, half covered by the blanket. Years of experience brought instant realisation, the idea froze Juan, he felt his heart pounding, his pulse loud in his ears. He knew better than to attempt to interfere, with a long sad sigh he turned and went to do all that was left to him. He went hurriedly to place a bet.

Sigrdrifa was a difficulty name for Juan, he was after all a long way from being a viking, so he and others referred to the big stallion as ‘Bliz’ a much easier name for all concerned. The thought stopped him once more. His princess had named her latest stallion Sigrdrifa, “Victory Blizzard”, even back then she already knew... !! The name was too clear a signal to ignore. At the booth, Juan simply emptied his wallet and pushed it all across, he spoke softly, not wanting others to hear. “Put it all on number 25 to win the Triple, all three.” The clerk’s eyes bulged and he turned quickly to seek out his supervisor, the race would soon be starting, Juan pocketed his betting slip just as the signal sounded, they were released to start... !!

Jess focussed her mind, letting her body move as her stallion dictated. She was aware of him, his power, the muscles in his chest and belly moved against her own. They were bound so close that only sweat could fit between them, his shaft was buried deep inside her, but there was little movement, almost no sensation other than fullness, the familiar stretching of her body demanded by his powerful shaft.

His previous owner and trainer had both been correct, he was too much horse, but right then Jess wondered if he was enough horse? At 17.3 hands he towered over many of the other stallions, his body was far more obviously muscled and his short coat shone like polished anthracite. Beneath him all 5’9” of young woman lay immobile, arms and legs wrapped tight and bound in place, her golden hair plaited and tucked so it didn’t drag on the ground, her body appeared glossy, as if oiled, which it had been, Eloa had massaged the heavy oil into every pore of her mistress’s body that morning. Jess was no stick model beauty, her body was too sleek, muscles to obvious when she flexed, but her power had a beauty all it’s own, her eyes sealed the deal, as blue as deep glacial ice, they froze when she let loose her temper, but in Eloa’s arms they appeared as blue as a tropical sea, so clear it was hard to judge their depth. Jess looked every inch a valkyrie to Eloa’s eyes, well, if a valkyrie spent a lot of time sunbathing naked to get the golden tan her mistress had even as a child.

About half of the competitors had set off before Jess eased Sigrdrifa around to face the start line, a glance left and right to ensure nobody was too close, another glance forward, achieved by tilting her head both sideways and back, the way was clear. Jess steeled herself, then using only fingers and toes, she gave Sigrdrifa the command she had practised so often but never until now without the safety strap securely in place.

Sigrdrifa let loose a long loud bellow, a sound loud enough to command a galloping herd. A stunned silence swept out, spreading ever wider as people reacted to the sound, turned to look, only to see the big stallion rear up high, front legs seemly ripping at the sky. Beneath him Jess felt herself side downwards, gravity fought the resistance of the powerful stallion’s shaft, driving ever deeper inside his mistress.