The Last Fox Hunt Of Britain
The Last Fox Hunt Of Britain
I cannot say what had piqued her interest that day, nor could I conjecture further than is proper for my station. It would be far easier to outline the occurrences as they transpired, unusual as they may be.
It was a date in May, a Tuesday, and my lady was suddenly stricken with the need to hunt something; to chase something. That day, it was fox.
My lady mare, a white of the thoroughbred variety proved herself quite comely and vibrant; age beginning to creep into her face in the form of crows' feet, only lent her a more fitting regal look.
She threw on a white silken blouse, white cotton jodhpurs, and wiggled daintily into her red grasshopper-tailed "shadbelly" coat as I held it outstretched for her.
Clicking a key and turning it in an antique lock of a walnut display case rewarded her with an array of tools for her pleasure; namely a double-barreled shotgun, a English "tin" hunting horn, and a long length of satin rope. She took all eagerly out, then donned her black velvet field cap.
I, of course, the butler, the brown and white spotted hound, was to be her servant on this foray.
I had prepared in advance for this trip, if you could believe something as spontaneous as a fox hunt can be premeditated, and in fact kept the number of one of the local vulpines who we had on contract for minor statuary repairs.
What a surprise this fellow will find, when he comes over!
"And you're sure it can't wait? I'm behind on two other projects as it is."
"No, no. The mistress has something planned later today. This cannot be delayed."
"And you say it's a minor chore? Just a broken arm I have to superglue or something?"
"Oh, yes. A minor chore. You won't realize it's work at all." I can barely suppress my dry amusement at this farce.
"Dammit, okay. Today in an hour?"
"My lady would not expect less."
The fox would not expect it at all!
She praises me. Not much, just enough to say 'good doggy' and all that ridiculous jibe. A good job well done.
Emile was not happy to be coming back to the estate of the wealthy mare, but damn if she wasn't one of his best contractors. He'd tell others' to fuck off, but would sooner eat his tail than deny her.
Money talks, gold sings, but the poor can only listen.
The hound dog, in his butler finery sees him at the door, as behind him, the giant picturesque gates lock in place and hum with electricity.
"Where is the broken statue?"
"Go out back, you'll find something quite interesting." The hound muses.
Emile shrugs, confused.
He trudges around the wide mansion along a nice white pavement sidewalk surrounding the house like a white skirt. Trees are blooming with the vibrant pink of cherry blossoms, as velvet leaves flutter down in the wind.
He is around toward the back, where the mare lazily leans her back against the dull grey of a skunk-like cherub of stone with a nice artfully crafted curving tail. Fine work, whoever sculpted that.
His gaze is back on her, as he takes in the almost ridiculously offensive sight of her clothing-neither is Emile ignorant of the way she chose to dress. Anger shoots through him. How could she DARE wear something like THAT in front of him?! It was sort of the equivalent of wearing a swastika around the country of Israel!
"Why the fuck are you dressed like that?!" The fox snarls.
"Hmmm...I have your attention fox? Good. Jolly good."
Then she aimed the gun he only now noticed with a fluid motion of her graceful gloved forearm.
His anger left him, as he looked at his own death, for it's muzzle was pointed at his.
"Well? What are you waiting for? Run, damn you!"
Run where? He only just realized the electrified gate kept him trapped on her grounds.
She shrugged her withers, disembarked from her resting place, and had him by the scruff of his work shirt, as she stared him in the eyes and his feet did not reach the ground.
"I'll give you a kick start."
Then she twists his pathetic form around, almost gagging him on his own clothes, then boots him painfully in the ass with her knee-high riding boots.
He is flung a few feet away, skidding painfully on the concrete. Dammit that hurt! See if he comes back to fix any statues, now.
If he gets out of this-
Alive.
He lays there, resigned to death. How can he hope to escape, trapped in her pavilion?
She puts something cold to his head-the shotgun.
"Move, you lazy bastard! It's no sport to take you here!"
"Fire away, bitch. I'll see you in hell, one day."
There are worst things than death, he realizes, as she gives him a nice kick to his furballs.
"A-Fu-Asono-Goddamnit!"
"MOVE!!!" She snarls ferociously.
He doesn't wait any longer, picking his bruised self up, turning to run away, as behind him, bellows the call, the sharp trill, of her hunting horn.
My ears catch her call. The lady has started her adventure. I wonder how long this prey will last before she manages to take him down.
I eagerly head for her, a satchel of various favorite delicacy's of hers under my left arm, and a hunting knife affixed to my belt.
Emile's heart pounds in his chest loudly. The pulse reaches his ears, making a sound of a thumping noise, like a giant high school band's drum from afar.
She creeps toward him as he rests, twigs snapping under her boots. He picks himself up, running off again, already realizing how hopeless this was. He couldn't run forever, he couldn't hide.
He was stuck between a rock and an electrified place.
"Charles, Oh, Sir Charles! Where could you have gone?" The mare muses.
Dammit! How close she was!
Pass me by, pass me by, he prays.
She is right by him!
He holds his breath!
"Charles? Or is Reynard better? Come out fox, I've a splendid surprise for YOU!"
She wades through the nettles past him, but doesn't seem to care, as she is wearing pants.
Emile certainly does! He came to work today in shorts!
"Charles? Charles James? I lose my patience. You will NEVER escape me."
She has traveled at least forty yards length from his hiding place, and going further.
Emile sighs, as she fumes angrily, frustrated.
"Dammit!"
The butler runs to accost her some distance away.
"Lady, do you wish me to help?"
She looks briefly at him, at his sensitive canine nose.
"No, Horace. Quite alright. Let him have his victory-for now. We'll have some of those cucumber sandwiches and apple tea you so faithfully have fetched me." She muses, giving in to her failure.
She was still close enough, that she could see if he moved out of his bush of stinging misery.
She must know I'm in here. She must be torturing me!
Emile parted the leaves, dashing out with a sudden rush of speed.
The mare huntress coughs up her tea in surprise, choking a little as some went in her lungs.
"Bloody hell! So THAT'S where the little bugger went!" She exclaims, coughing, and scrabbling frantically about her sides for her gun.
As always, faithful me has it ready. I find it and hand it over.
"Perhaps your previous assessment of his conduct proves false." I muse.
"Oh, do shut up, love." She reprimands playfully with a smile and a wink, taking the shotgun from my outstretched paw.
Emile turns back to see that she does not run to intercept him. She follows, she does not run.
Like a lioness stalking wounded prey.
That unnerving assessment sets him up for another release of unknown energy, as he sprints.
However, the body of even a fox was not built for panicked flight all day.
He stumbles to the ground, enormously weak and delirious.
When he sees the butler with a knife on his belt, Emile cannot even blink.
He flinches as something powerful and quite painful crashes into his ass. She shot him. She shot him in the ass.
Emile blacks out, wondering if this is what death always felt like; a long, slow, slippery abyss into obscurity and tired heaviness.
I look on as the lady takes careful aim at the pathetic form of her prey, and fires.
Two aluminum encapsulated tranquilizer darts poke upright from the musculature of his clothed round asscheeks.
I snicker at this target; she couldn't have done it better.
"What are you waiting for Horace? That stuff only lasts ten minutes at the most!" She prompts eagerly, tossing me the rope.
I go to the fox, unsheathe my knife, and shred his clothes off carefully. Then I drag his limp form to the shade of a nearby tree, tying his arms behind him, attaching the other end to a low hanging branch, which will hopefully give him some room to move like some odd leash.
"Lady, I DO hope he is prepared to your satisfaction." I muse with a grin.
I always enjoy it when she allows me to watch.
She grins, amused.
"Oh, yes. Most absurd it took us this long, but no matter. Now, I may take my sport of him, and not a bloody thing he can do about it, either!"
Emile wakens to find his arms uncomfortably locked behind him.
His bum hurts, and something painfully bounces right against the flesh.
"Why look Horace! He's sporting breeding plumage like a peacock!" The mare jokes with a chortle from nearby.
He is quite embarrassed to find himself disrobed. He goes toward the tree trunk to rub his ass against it, hopefully to discard whatever seems to be stuck in his rear.
"Here love, I'll get those for you!" She laughs.
The mare saunters over, letting her unfastened jodhpurs fall down her legs to her ankles. She steps out of them effortlessly, now sporting the interesting sheen of white silk high-cut panties.
Emile forgets about the things stuck in his butt, as his eyes fasten in rapt attention on the wet dripping cameltoe of her panty covered cunt.
She is so big! She wraps her arms about his middle, tearing the pesky things out with a hasty jerk. Emile cringes as she tosses the pair of shiny darts off to the side.
"You like this, Don't you Reynard fox?" She said, rubbing the fabric of her underwear against her slimy, juice-covered clit.
And somehow, she was sexy when she did that, while still sporting her coat, blouse, and hat neatly in place on her upper body, as she stood there in the black leather riding boots with the shrunk toe to accommodate hooved furs.
Then she rubs the fabric slowly along his now erect cockhead.
The wet, slippery, mare fragrance silk feels like heaven, as her heat floats to his nose.
He almost forgets he is at her mercy.
Almost.
Until she pushes him to the leaf-covered ground, and mounts him like she would a favorite palfrey for a ride through the grounds. In one gloved hand, she has his cock. In the other, the edge of her frilly panties to pull the under portion to the side for access. Then she crashes her equine bulk almost painfully against him, his dick disappearing completely in her hot, slick, mare depths.
"I'll teach you a few things about sport, Reynard." She muses, as she lies on top of him, grinding her erect clit against his lower belly.
Emile was left breathless by this bold act, leaving him weak. She felt good. So fucking good. So...bottomless.
I watch her have her way with the fox, her quarry, as I prepare something special she has asked me in confidence to enact.
I take from the satchel, where the food is also kept, a large, purple, two inch wide, one foot long vibrator, squirting astroglide generously on the tip, ready to insert it into the horny entrance of her winking pink-skinned tailhole.
"Lady, it is ready." I declare.
"Work me over, Horace!" She demands.
I do not hesitate, hearing as she gives a dainty moan from the cold, lubed tip perched right against the opening of her shitter. I work it slowly in, half an inch at a time, as she rides the fox like a wild bronco.
My lady the bronco, I ponder. That won't serve her aristocratic image, I muse wryly, inserting another inch into her ass.
I think I'm halfway there, now. Six inches in her bum. Any farther, and I imagine I'd be paying her colon a bit of a visit.
Emile cringes in pleasure as her muscular insides clamp on his dick like the velvety feel of a soft hand.
She grunts, bringing his attention back to her.
Behind, Emile sees Horace the foxhound busy doing something to her backside.
"More!" She squeals in marish delight.
"Don't hold out on me!" She orders.
I smile faintly, my own jodhpurs popping a tent.
Lady gets what lady wants.
I shove the rest of the four inches into her impatient tailhole, as her cunt splashes copious amounts of juice onto the fox's thighs in response.
Now, I turn it on, and begin to drive her crazy with the imitation of wild stallion-like thrusts of a horny feral mustang.
I had practiced this move for some time. I have it mastered perfectly, to her sudden astonishment.
"Where-UH!-Where you le-LEARN that-Hor-HORACE!" She gasps out with difficulty.
With all this going on, I can bet the lady never got fucked THIS good before!
"National Geographic, Madame. And some stuff I had found on F-urTube."
"Fuck me Horace, Fuck me!" She demands in horny, estrous-laced elation, rocking her body on the somewhat undersized, but not too shabbily considered, fox meat.
"Heh. Heh. My lady the rocking horse." I joke, pummeling her hole with the sleek purple length of the loudly buzzing vibrator.
She grunts, her pussy and asshole convulsing with the gradual built-up to onslaught of pussy juice erupting maregasm.
"Faster! Faster!" She whinny's with a primal grunt.
My arm quickly becomes tired with this new pace she has set, but amazingly, her ass doesn't catch on fire and seems to take the rapid friction well.
Under her, Emile feels his own testicles getting ready to convulse with his seed.
Who would cum first? It was going be a photo finish!
Hot steamy torrents of her piss and pussy juice splatter his thighs and belly with her heat-scented essence. She has claimed him forever, as his balls convulse, launching powerful orgasmic pulses into her eagerly waiting lower maw.
She is still on top of him, now collapsed, tired from sex, as she shares a deep tongue kiss with him.
The sex was good. At this point, he doesn't care about the fact that he was foxnapped and raped.
There is a saying for this unusual situation,
'If you're gonna be raped, lie back and enjoy it.'
As if to punctuate this point, her pussy gives his still buried cock a playful series of squeezes and milking motions.
Emile sighs, indubitably blissful.
What will she do next?
I undo my pants, standing over the white mare.
"May I lady? You are well lubed for it." I ask humbly.
She yawns sleepily.
"Absolutely. You did well today. I think I'll hunt our fox friend again some time, if my boldness hasn't scared him off."
"I think he should be paid well, even if this was a 'minor' task to complete. Maybe he will initiate the hunt next time?"
"You mean, he'll want me to do this to him all over again?" She muses tiredly, a little drowsy.
I take my place, eagerly putting the tip of my canid-knotted tool at the gaping red entrance to her tailhole, shoving in with an eager sigh of contentment, as her ass canal devours my cock warmly in a well-lubed pillow of soft flesh.
As I hear her begin to snore on her hard-won quarry, I whisper, maybe hoping she hears, maybe not.
"Perhaps he will want to know what it feels like to hunt the last horny white mare of England."
I grin, both from my newfound sated, erotic bliss, and from my amusingly ironic wit.