(http://i279.photobucket.com/albums/kk137/HaibaneR/Monaco/Characters/Avatars/PammyAvatar-04.jpg)<br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 18pt;">Pamela "Titty" Thaunton</span></span><br/><strong>Location:</strong>Gare de Monaco, en Route back to the Casino<br/><strong>With:</strong>NPCs all: Jimmy, Snobby, two big black geezers and their cock-warmer.<br/><hr/><br/>I ignored the fares on their return as this time they seemed more pre-occupied with each other and with the first man's slave. Their talk about her age didn't concern me. Regardless of the slave laws it was still illegal to have sex with a minor under the age of sixteen, thank whatever gods may still be around, and if they wanted to get themselves put in prison that was no concern of mine. That was at least something to be grateful for, that the arseholes who had put the law in place had at least backed off from the calls of the ultra-right-wing extremists, and left girls with some freedom and the chance to grow up before being taken away for ritual abuse.<br/><br/>Jimmy cracked the whip again and again Snobby and I strained against the harness. Thank fuck he didn't dothat stupid trick with the brake this time, because the damn thing was (to quote a line from one of my all-time favourite war movies) "heavier than Kelsey's Burgers!" My hoof slipped and I almost fell. The whip struck my backside again and with an annoyed whinnie I regained my footing, threw myself back at the harness and between the two of us, Snobby and I managed to get it moving again.<br/><br/>You'd think it would be easier going down hill, but it's not. The brakes on a cart like that are leather wrapped wooden blocks that press against a special groove just inside the wheel hub. They aren't hydraulic like the brakes on a car, they are powered by the arm (or sometimes the foot) of the driver, leaning hard onto a long lever. He can only hold them on for so long before they start to overheat, and when he takes them off, the full weight of the cart comes crashing down on your back.<br/><br/>The way back, fortunately, was mostly along one long main road, the Boulevard Princess Charlotte, which runs straight into the Avenue Saint Michel. We hit the corner at a run, Jimmy being sadistic again, and being on the outside of the bend I was the one racing to keep up. I heard the brakes squealing behind me and the two passengers cried out in alarm, but everything was under control. The cart was more than capable of taking the corner at a gallop with a real horse in the shafts and we were only doing about a quarter of that speed. The clopping of our horseshoes on the road surface rang off the buildings around us as we struggled to slow the carriage in time for the sharper right hand bend at the bottom of the hill.<br/><br/>All I can say is thank the gods for the stupid European traffic rule that says you have to give way to traffic joining, or we would have been run into by the Toyota land cruiser that we cut out in front of. The driver did the usual French thing of honking at us and swearing at Jimmy, but his heart wasn't really in it. I mean, if you were a guy driving along and you were cut up by a cart being pulled by two very busty naked women with tails in their arses, would you mind? Didn't think so!<br/><br/>We made it back to the Casino, and our fares paid Jimmy and left. No sugar limps this time, but I wouldn't have taken one from that tit-grabber anyway. Not that I don't like my tits being grabbed, but it gets a bit boring after a while, and if everyone did it, by the end of the day I'd be too bruised to take the milking machine.<br/><br/>Jimmy switched the meter to off-duty, and snapped the whip out again. "Okay, girls, Home we go." He clicked his tongue at us and we glanced at each other then pulled again, one more time. Back to the stables, a nice rub down, maybe being allowed to cum, a dish of warm oatmeal and lounging under the sprinklers as Mistress promised. Then milking time and back out for the evening drunks.<br/><br/>Not much of a life, I know, but it had it's compensations. I was still alive, and as Prison had taught me, being alive is the best a woman can hope for these days.