Out on the lower field, a small group of keepers had gathered under an old pear tree, looking up. They were all ages, all dressed in the keepers’ gray uniforms, most of them sweating in the Georgia sun. Mostly men, but a good number of them women, some puffing on cigarettes, flicking the ashes onto the furrowed ground that had so recently been worked by ponies pulling plows. A few buggies waited nearby, the leathered and booted ponies obediently standing at attention in their harnesses.
The keepers were looking up at a naked girl, or more precisely looking right up into the open pussy of a naked girl, as she straddled two limbs on wide-spread, tough bare feet, working the long pruning lopper to finish cutting off the last of the dead branches. They admired the finely-toned, evenly tanned body, covered with a sheen of dirt-stained sweat, the working of the abdominal and arm muscles, the jiggling of the firm breasts as the bit chewed away at the branch, the long, florid tail behind, gracefully waving back and forth with every motion of the muscles deep inside her. This pony named “Naked”, a special pony who went through life in this natural state. All could see the wisdom of the standing order that this pony never be provided with a stitch of clothing or shoes. It would seem so out of place on Naked, like ruining a fine painting with a crayon.
Naked’s face betrayed no emotion. In fact the situation had bad associations for her, but she focused on her task as if unaware of the many stares shooting like arrows at her nakedness and up into her open pussy. When the branch was about to fall the keepers got out of the way. Naked watched, the long lopper in one hand, wiping the sweat from her face with the other, her breasts tightly swaying a little, as with a loud crack the big dead branch separated from the tree and fell to the dirt. The naked pony threw the lopper down then jumped onto the ground, her tail flying up behind her. She hefted the big branch onto her shoulder and picked up the lopper and began her trek across the field as she had been instructed. Some of the keepers followed her, the rest got back into their buggies and went off. It was a strange parade across the field, led by Naked, sweating as she carried the heavy branch and the lopper, her tail swishing back and forth with the sway of her hips.
When she had put the branch in the big pile and put the lopper into the shed, Keeper Edmund led her to the hosing platform. Her arms and legs were free, but escape was impossible on these well-patrolled acres so she simply walked behind him. A circle of keepers watched as she was hosed down and then obediently stretched herself out into an “X” so that she could be toweled front and back. Then her arms were bound behind her, not with linked elbows, but in the less severe manner, forearms crossed.
“Hey Naked!” It was Burt.
Naked turned around, then hated herself for doing so.
“Go to the mansion, conference room C.” Burt and Edmund looked at each other, Burt shrugging. And for the first time, the girl’s face showed a hint of animation.