


 Honey, as he was commonly referred to by his stage name, whiffled in dejection through his broad nostrils, as he glanced at himself in the mirror. Short, for an palomino anthro, he was only six feet tall from his hooves to his golden ear tips. For an anthropomorphic stallion, he was shorter than most, being bred from pony stock, yet where it mattered – in his slender hips and surprisingly large sheath – he was more like his stallion sire, who had been a monster of a horse...who had been bred to his mother, an anthropomorphic mare, called Silvermane.  Honey had spent years piecing together the story of his childhood, and the sickening facts as they were finally revealed, had made Honey sick.


 His mother, had worked the underground 'adult' industry for years – she had a reputation as a mare, who would do anything – with anything – and her reputation grew and grew, but mostly it was those who produced the style of black-market type movies, that made the real money. Silvermane had barely been kept fed enough to perform, only when she was expected to do a new movie, was she fattened up to a respectable weight – then often, unseen to the audience who watched her particular 'brand' of movie – she was forced into humiliating at best, or outright obscene sexual acts, with humans, anthros or...occasionally...animals of both sexes and all breeds.  It was the animal exploitation films, that seemed to bring the most money – and one day, they had brought in a monster of a stallion – his black coat as dark as a moonless night – and as he was brought over, the penis that he slid from his sheath – would have made the most generous of shire stallions blush in shame.


 Silvermane had been forced to do all manner of sickening and often excruciating sexual acts with this stallion, whose own sexual prowess soon, on set at least, became legendary. He would often make Silvermane choke when he would come down her throat, each time he stood back from her and dismounted from her tight anus or vulva, a gush of semen would flow like a river...yet he never seemed to grow tired or run out of enthusiasm.  Several movies had been shot using him and her, that week, and it was the last of the exploitation films – Silvermane was to ever make....


 A month after the last of the filming with that stallion, Silvermane had realised every anthropomorphic creatures worst nightmare – it was practically unheard of – a feral and an anthro mating was one thing – as was a human and an anthro, but this...this was unimaginable. Silvermane learned, much to her horror – she was pregnant...to that stallion.


 Silvermane had died during childbirth to her foal, a beautiful golden coloured colt, who, like his mother, inherited the characteristic Palomino colouration – but even from his newborn age – he'd inherited his fathers size in his sheath, and he had been sold, purely discretely, as Silvermane had never actually been listed on the anthropomorphic register – to a farmer, who in turn, after working the young colt nearly to death, had sold him to his current master, who run the Broken Spur Bar....


*


 Honey was his name; his fur was a beautiful gold, silky smooth and he snorted as he looked at the ridiculous cowboy outfit he had been ordered to wear, for tonight's performance. It was affixed with thin velcro straps in well hidden places, so it'd be easy to strip off – and Honey moaned and rolled his eyes, knowing he was earning a reputation as an exotic dancer, in the Broken Spur bar – but it was his secret reputation, that hurt Honey even more.


 He lived and worked in the bar, from his youngest memories, all he could recall was being owned by the grossly obese human, who often dressed in a dirty suit, that looked at least, to Honey's eyes, about two sizes too small; food stains and assorted drinks so ingrained into the once fine wool, that it'd never be cleaned. His employer paid Honey well, or so the young equine thought, yet severely curtailed Honey's desires – and Honey closed his widely spaced eyes and whiffled sadly, remembering the first time he'd been made to perform his 'other' duties...duties which now, still sickened Honey to his very core, but the painfully educational lessons his master had brought down on the reluctant equines head, soon taught Honey it was easier to obey, than it was to try and say no.


 Honey flicked his golden ears, feeling them brushing against his platinum coloured mane, before he snorted and shook himself out of his misery, then affixed the silly hat to his head, gently pulling his ears through the holes in the hat, and leaving the small room, which served as his bedroom, and dressing room.  He passed fellow dancers, both anthro and human, and they looked at Honey with looks ranging from sadness, to outright disgust and scorn, but Honey remained stonily faced, ignoring the cruel taunts from some of his colleagues, as he moved up to his assigned position and listened to the crowd, who cheered, clapped and yelled his name.


 This...was what Honey felt, in his heart, he had been meant to do. He smoothed down his sequinned costume, making doubly-sure everything was as it should be, before he drew a deep breath and stepped through the curtain and into the white hot spotlight – and the screaming adoration of the people who had come to witness this young dancer perform.


*


  For over two hours, Honey delighted his audience, with his graceful, almost feminine moves, peeling off one piece of his gaudy costume at a time and throwing it behind him, as he gyrated, pivoted and thrust his hips suggestively, the tight thong barely containing his surprisingly long sheath, but leaving nothing up to the imagination. Honey adulated in the screaming of the women in the club, then teasingly dropped to his knees and paws, then began a sensual bucking motion, his hips pistoning in time to the music – and the crowd just went absolutely crazy.
 
 This was what Honey lived for – the screaming crowd, their moans and cheers as he made his effeminate equine form do things, that they could never imagine; the way the light sparkled off his golden coat and silvery mane – this was what was worth living for, and he swirled to his hooves, then wrapped his fingers around a metal pole that was planted in the centre of the stage.  He threw back his head and whinnied like a dominant stallion claiming a mare, his muscles rippling beneath his fur, as he grasped the pole then began rubbing his sheath against it suggestively, before humping his hips, his silvery tail flagging like a piston.  He heard the moans the gasps from his audience, and this only encouraged Honey into greater acts of dancing. At last, his routine nearly finished, Honey spun away and ended up doing the splits on the ground, laying his upper body along one leg, his arms beside him and hooflets splayed as the deafening music reached an incredible crescendo. 






 People, barely visible to Honey – even those in the front row, roared and cheered their appreciation of his performance, and Honey slowly twisted himself back to his hooves and bowed gracefully, splaying his fingers out in a wide-armed gesture, before he rose and turned about, heading back through the curtain.


 Hurriedly, Honey returned to his dressing room, closing the door behind him and shivering in ecstasy, as he loved performing – it was always something different each night, he would try and mix up his routine, so he could bask in the adulation of his growing fans – yet knowing, his painful contortions and seemingly unnatural movements, whilst erotic and enticing to his crowd, often left Honey in excruciating pain, frequently requiring lengthy soaks in his small bath – in water that nearly seared his fur off his effeminate body, to unkink and relax the tortured muscles beneath his luxurious golden coat. He had just slipped his fingers in to the tight band of the thong he wore, when his owner barged in, completely oblivious to Honey's privacy.


 “Get dressed, number sixteen – five minutes!” Snarled the grossly overweight man, then roughly slapped Honey's rump.


 Honey moaned softly; number sixteen meaning he was to dress appropriately as a horse – with saddle, bit, bridle...the whole works, for a 'customer'. Feeling hot, sweaty and exhausted after his double stage work tonight, the last thing Honey wanted, was a patron – who had paid, it was whispered, an exorbitant fee – for Honey's 'other' talents....


 With a growl, the man grabbed Honey's left ear and cruelly pulled his head down, then twisted it, making Honey whimper and drop to his knees in agony.


 “Listen, little pony-boy - “ His owner snarled at him.  “You do as your told – its either work here – or live on the street. You got four minutes, so shift that golden rump, and you better please your patron, or god help you....”


 Without another word, the human released Honey's ear and stalked out, slamming the door behind him. Honey sobbed and rubbed at his ear, feeling the sickening nausea wash over him, before he hurriedly dressed as his 'patron' demanded. A costume saddle, which, as Honey tightened the girth strap around his belly, felt real and heavy on his back – the reins, and finally, he slipped the bit into his mouth and momentarily gagged on the metal taste against his tongue, before he tightened the bridle halter either side of his head and left his room, heading down to the 'back room' as it was known.


 Here, Honey double-checked the room over, making sure everything was in order. His eyes skipped over the multiple secretive cameras he knew were hidden there, throughout the room – and he smoothed down the blood-red silk sheets, his furred fingers gently pushing out any creases, before he laid a clean towel down on the bed and checked the small wash basin – ensuring the proper soaps and liquids were at hand.  Honey knelt on the bed, facing the wall, and waited patiently for his 'patron' to enter the room. Honey despised this part of his work – yet it had been forced upon him, from a very young age, and if Honey refused to do as he'd been ordered, his owner would often beat him terribly, or if he was feeling particularly cruel...he'd use the prod on Honey.


 Of all the beatings and torture Honey endured, as he was 'taught' his trade – the prod was the worst. It never left a mark on his beautiful golden fur, but the shock from the twin nodules at the end, was almost beyond excruciating. Now, he knelt obediently on the bed, on his paws and knees, and prayed his new 'patron' would be a woman. He closed his eyes and shivered, wishing against all other hope, that the door would hiss open on its pneumatic arm, and a young woman – hell, Honey thought to himself – even some old, hideous woman would do – would come in, be all shy and blushing, and Honey would do what he had been taught – and please her in any way she wished – often, working a few kinks of his own design, into their lovemaking.


 Honey had a reputation – which had reached his ears and made him sick to his stomach – for whatever the sexual kink or orientation, Honey would obey. Honey had lost times the number of men, who had taken him as a mare, a few had made Honey make THEM his mare – which had terrified and sickened him, and Honey particularly liked the women, as they were often – but not always, so gentle with him, and their soft, warm bodies against his, as he would use everything he knew to pleasure them – from a gentle massage, to a lengthy and passionate lovemaking – he would do. Honey blocked out the worst of what he done in this room, often letting his mind go places much more pleasing – but he never once lost his head, always, he was alert to his masters or mistresses order, and he would follow it to the letter...he knew what punishments would fall upon him, if he refused...or disobeyed.


 Honey's ears flicked back, as he barely heard the hiss of the door, and he trembled – before he heard the short, sharp breathing and his eyes squeezed closed, as he felt two tears slide down his furred cheeks. His 'owner' for this little dalliance, was no woman – but, as Honey's nostrils flared and he smelt the alcohol and masculine stink of the man, Honey's heart sank and he shivered again, purely involuntarily. There was the rustle of footsteps, then the sound of a zipper sliding down; before the man shuffled closer and grabbed Honey's tail and cruelly yanked it up. Bravely, Honey bit back his whicker of fear and pain, as the human looked at Honey's exposed black sphincter and grinned.


 “Oh, nice, tight little pony-slut, aren't you girl?” Grunted the man, as he sat on the edge of the bed and Honey trembled again, listening to the man sliding his jeans off.


 Honey knew better, than to turn and look, merely closed his eyes and bit down on the foul tasting metal bit in his jaws, hoping this man was as intoxicated as he smelt. Often, men had paid for Honey's services, but because of their drunken state – they, and even Honey, had been unable to get the man aroused, and he'd gone home with blue balls, much to Honey's pleasure. Honey's master got paid, wether the 'owner' got off of not. There was few rules with Honey – no permanent injuries or anything like that, he was to speak only when directly addressed, Honey would, without hesitation, obey a direct order given to him by a customer, regardless of the sexual kink, or Honey's own wishes and desires.


 Honey involuntarily gasped as his tail as cruelly yanked up again, then he flattened his ears, knowing his owner watched the camera feeds from this room, and that included sounds as well – yet his current customer didn't seem to mind, or really care – before he grasped Honey's tail and forced it up; despite Honey obediently lifting it as high as he could manage, his silky tail like a curtain over his rump.


 “Oh yes, good little pony-boy slut....” Growled the man, as he panted and masturbated himself slowly.


 Honey's hopes rose, as he thought this human would just sit back and pleasure himself – but Honey's ears flicked as he heard the click of the bottle behind him, then he squeezed his eyes closed, as the sickly sweet scent of the lubricant reached his flaring nostrils.  After a few moments, the man knelt on the bed and grasped the reins, pulling Honey's head back painfully, then snapping the reins on his furred shoulders, making Honey moan and shudder.


 “Down on the floor you filthy little pony whore - “ Snapped the man, as he cruelly tugged the reins to the right.


 Gurgling, Honey did as he was told, then he knelt on the carpet, his paws resting against the thick carpet, and his tail raised painfully high – before the man looked down at the saddled Honey and grinned – then moved up behind him – and began pushing himself against Honey's instinctively tightening sphincter.


 “Oh god...oh, yes...you tight little slut....” Gasped the man, as his well lubricated length pushed deeper and deeper into Honey, who bit down tighter on the bit in his teeth, trying desperately to think of something  - anything – that would take his mind off this painful and humiliating experience.


 Honey had been forcibly bred by many a man in his young life, but never, one as endowed as this one. Inch after inch was pushed into Honey's rump, until finally, the man's hips slapped against Honey's furred ones, and he gurgled in delight. At least close, in Honey's mind, ten inches of penis had been forced into him. Just as he shivered and tried to block the thoughts of what this man was doing with him, the human grinned, yanked the reins back cruelly with one hand, and his other reached under Honey's belly and grasped his sheath. Honey's eyes snapped open and he squealed helplessly, his anal muscles contracting tightly in alarm and the man grunted, then began stroking Honey's sheath, squeezing the horse-cock hidden within it as he began thrusting against Honey's rump.


 Again and again, the man would pull himself almost out, then yank the reins back and snap Honey's head back, before ploughing back into him and pulling Honey's sheath agonisingly tight.  How Honey resisted the urge to get aroused, he did not know, keeping himself sheathed and each painful thrust of the human made him buck against his master and gasp.


 “Oh yes, good little whore...that's it – ride me you filthy little cocksucker...” Gasped the man, as he increased his already sharp thrusts against Honey's rump.


 For an hour, the human mounted Honey again and again, before, just at the last, he withdrew and Honey moaned in misery – and the human roughly pulled Honey's muzzle about – then ejaculated all over Honey's velvety nose and lower muzzle, shaking in ecstasy and slapping his wilting erection against Honey's muzzle.  Honey kept his eyes tightly closed, feeling the hot, sticky semen being spattered all over his muzzle – the stink of it making his stomach curl and writhe within him, before the human gave one last moan and pushed against Honey's nose, then dropped to his knees and knelt panting in post-orgasmic pleasure.  Honey remained as he was, his eyes closed and ears forward, as was expected, then the human merely rubbed Honey's forehead and weakly dressed, not even bothering to clean himself up, then left the room.


 Honey wasted no time in tearing the bridle off, spitting the bit out, then hurriedly soaking a towel in the small wash basin and rubbing the humans semen off his nose and muzzle, feeling sickened and repulsed.  His stomach felt like it was doing loops in his belly, and Honey gagged, then shivered and slowly clopped back to his room, where he slumped onto the crude bed, and clutched his thin pillow to his chest and began trembling, the tears sliding down his cheeks and dripping onto the sheet he lay on.


 He knew his owner would be pleased, his master, had definitely seemed pleased, but as Honey began to cry great, choking sobs, nobody asked, if Honey was pleased....


To Be Continued...