Giddy Up

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Gal finds a treasure on a friends farm.
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Idyut
Idyut
58 Followers

(M,F, ponyplay, no sex)

My college break could be worse, I thought while driving the back roads of Kittitas County in rural Washington state. My GPS said I should be almost there but I could see nothing but trees on both sides of the highway.

"Turn left on unnamed road 300 feet ahead."

Sure enough, around a slight bend, was a small dirt road winding off into the wilderness. As I turned and headed down the sylvan drive, I left the last vestige of civilization on the highway.

The area had been logged once long ago, natural regrowth claiming the stumps and making the road unpredictable. A few twists and turns and ahead a narrow bridge over a raging river came into view. To the right was a sign riddled with bullet holes but with a little squinting, I could make out 'Blewett River Webber - Mining Claim' and a few partial numbers.

My Audi was by no means large, but this narrow bridge had me a bit apprehensive. Adding to my sinking feeling. the lack of any railing. I like a wide bridge, a bridge with rails, a real bridge, not much to ask for, I felt. As I inched forward, it became clear that the bridge was a semi-trailer braced between cement embankments. As I slowly crossed, the boards thumped and the steel structure creaked.

"Matt, if you greet me with a freshly dug hole and a shovel, I will eternally haunt your soul," I muttered.

To the left, the Blewett looked so cold and refreshing, flowing fast with the glacial runoff in the Cascades. Getting out of Seattle was nice; it was a rare hot day, nearing 90. The air was warm and light, with little but the smell of pine in the air and the sounds of birds surrounding me. I would not hear or smell any rush hour traffic this weekend.

Matt invited me out to see his grandfather's farm. He asked for help clearing the overgrowth and cataloging what he had inherited trying to figure out what to sell and what to keep. The buildings on the property included a cabin, two barns, and corral, but anything more was a mystery to him.

His hope, explaining what some of the stuff was that he found and the condition. Being that I, a cowgirl from Enumclaw compared to him. a city kid who visited his grandfather during the summer as a boy. At least that is what he claimed while I guessed he had possible ulterior motives for getting me alone in the woods, info was just icing on the cake. So dressed in jeans, a tank top, and sturdy boots, and maybe just a hint of natural makeup, I drove out to see his diamond in the rough.

After a few more twists and turns ahead of me leaned an open gate and beyond a clearing. All signs pointed out I was finally here but my GPS was lost, stuck in a loop and saying "Recalculating."

"SILENCE," I said in a deep foreboding godlike voice while pressing the off switch.

Driving past the gate that had a no trespassing sign and down the grassy drive, I pulled up next to Matt's beat-up old Chevy and hopped out. At least four people knew I was coming here, so if I went missing, he would have a hard time finding and silencing everyone. Maybe I had been watching one too many crime shows.

The brown barn looked sturdy and in good shape, maybe a few decades old with few gaps in the boards and flaking paint. Shingles on the roof seemed recently replaced and complete. I walked around it, taking photos of the building as I went. Once around the barn, I could see the main cabin and one more barn.

The cabin was not very big, with a single pitch roof that spanned the main floor and deck. It was a Swedish over round log home and was very sturdy looking. With a snowy setting, the cabin would be right at home in Alaska or Sweden. The south side had the deck while the roof sloped up from it, covered in solar panels.

The other barn was not a normal-looking farm structure. Constructed of two long shipping containers on two of the sides with a tall arched roof spanning the gap. The eastern container was a burnt red with a few odd dents. The western container was an off-yellow and covered in printed Asian text, done in black.

Blackberries had grown through and around the metal structure, blocking off the openings at each end, where Matt was working to clear the massive overgrowth. Matt was whacking away with a black machete, to clear the brush when I walked up behind him. Being that it was still June, the berries were green on the vines. Thoughts of blackberry jam flooded into my head.

"Hey, stranger," I called as I walked up towards him, snapping pictures as I went. "You want to know the easy way to get rid of those blackberries?"

To that he turned and there he stood, blue jeans and boots, sweet and sculpted muscle, covered in sweat and leaves, leaning on a rake. He sure had the body of a Greek god. Athletic and strong but not overly muscle-bound and gaudy. If only he had more brains or was taller than me, I might seriously like him.

"Well hello. I didn't hear you come up. How do I get rid of this stuff? Fire? Backhoe?"

"Heck no. It is just so simple. Goats. Just buy some goats and pen them in an area you need to be cleared. They will eat everything growing. Poof, no more weeds. Granted you need a rifle to shoot the coyotes or cougars that might try to eat them. Circle of life and all."

"Um, like in those Pemco Insurance ads, right?"

"Exactly," I laughed. I am not going to tell him I learned it from the very same TV commercial.

"We have rifles, plenty of rifles. Can you give me a hand? I am trying to get the old cart out of the weeds and into the main barn."

Taking up a machete, I helped whacking while he pulled away branches back with a rake, diving in and pulling back the freed branches. Later after clearing a swath through the bush, I pulled on an aluminum bar and wiggled it as Matt tried to free the intertwined branches off it. With a mighty tug from me, it rolled free with a startling jolt, I fell on my ass.

"Ha. Ha. Ha," Matt gave large belly laughs at me and then cheered our little victory.

"Gramps used to hook up his horse Spot and ride behind on the cart. When I was little, he used to hook it up behind a mule and it pulled us kid's around. That old mule was slow and often just stood there without moving but we loved it," while he walked around the cart, deep affection shining in his eyes as he recalled memories from his past. His fingers gliding over the metal and leather while he talked to me.

I just watched as he talked, sitting on my bruised butt and ego.

"He had a basket that he would hang on the back. This he used to hold stuff when he rode into town for supplies. Mostly he took the truck but on occasions, he would hook this up to Spot and off they went. Sometimes they just rolled around the property or down logging roads."

Getting up and dusting myself off, I looked over this cart of his. It was made of mostly aluminum and was mostly painted in blue and white paint. The seat was dirty white leather and showed some age and some damage. It had two large wheels that looked like oversized bicycle wheels that had a little rust on the spokes and had been painted blue.

"This is not a cart, Matt." I gasped and ran my hands over the beautiful vehicle before me. I lifted it to weigh it and found it very light.

"Bah, it is our cart, Beth. Gramps just used to ride it to town, to church, and around for the fun of it."

"It is a special cart," I said in awe. "It is a sulky, a racing cart. They are the roadsters of the horse racing world and this is a rare one."

"A what?" seemingly surprised.

"Yeah, a sulky, a racing sulky. They used to race these at Longacres, south of Seattle. My folks used to take me there when I was a kid. I always loved watching those races."

"Cool," Matt seemed a little taken aback.

"Grab the front and hold it for me. I want to sit in it," I said. Matt grabbed the front and held it steady.

I hopped over one of the arms and checked out the foot pedals along with the seat. Deftly I slipped and fell into the seat as some bush rolled off the foot pedal I tried to use. Turning around and once situated with my arms up like I was holding the reins, I yelled "Yeehaw!"

"Yeah, not going to happen, missy," Matt yawned at me.

Quickly I grabbed a branch from the right side wheel and swatted at Matt. It was not much more than a twig.

"Okay, okay," he said as he turned and began to pull. He walked slowly pulling it along the old path. His gramps must have been tall, the stirrup or pedals were too far away for me but looked easy to adjust. The seat was stiff and crunchy but comfy.

"Yeehaw," I yelled again and swatted at Matt with the twig. It broke and Matt let go of the arms. The sulky arms flew up and I fell backward. Landing on my back with a thud, my legs draped over the seat. I landed so hard, it knocked the wind out of me.

As I struggled to get a breath, Matt was rolling on the ground laughing so hard, I was sure he would have a stroke or wet himself. He was even crying a little. Once I could breathe, I laughed too, looking up as my legs held up the cart with its two slender poles pointed upward to the sky.

Matt helped me up after we both recovered. He also helped himself to a hug, some breast and ass groping and followed up with a long passionate kiss.

"Sorry, I expected it to go down, not up," he said sheepishly.

The weekend was a blur of blood, sweat, and tears clearing areas of the grounds followed by eggs, bacon, and pancakes for dinner. I swear that boy only knew how to cook breakfast. At least we had cold beer, warm beds, and hot sex. I did have to work around a nasty bruise on my ass.

We got a lot done and had a good pile of rubbish started in the center of the old corral. Mostly blackberry bushes and rotted building supplies.

After the weekend, I drove home and all I could think of was the sulky. I wanted to ride it. I wanted to fix it up. It would be so neat restored.

At home, I jumped on the computer and googled sulky and sure enough, images popped up of the same types of racing karts I remembered. Some even looked a bit like the one Matt had found, all kinds of colors but all as simple and straightforward.

So I looked up "Woman On Sulky" and was not ready for the images that came up. I had long ago disabled any safe search that would limit what I could see. A few images had women riding a sulky in a race with a long riding crop with a multi-colored uniform and matching helmet. Some were a bit different.

The leather was black and the buckles were all shiny chrome, in stark contrast. The women had black hard leather riding boots, corsets, and long crops. None of these pictures had a single horse, just men in leather with hoods and blinders.

One struck me. The woman was wearing a mixed red and black corset. Her sulky was also red and black. The 'pony' was in a somewhat matching red and black corset but that was the only part of him with color except for a red horsetail, somehow protruding from his haunches.

Flipping through the gallery, I saw this gal had red panties and black leather chaps. The hint of red, against flesh and leather turned me on. With one hand she held the bridal and the other a long riding crop with a red handle. The images showed her driving the high stepping 'pony' about a yard.

The sulky seemed to only be altered slightly for her human pony. The handles were bent inward to fit a human. The clips connected to a harness around his waist and his wrists were tethered to the handgrips of the sulky. My bruised ass was a testament of need for tethers. I will need to talk to Matt and get another ride, a more prepared ride.

Idyut
Idyut
58 Followers
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