1 comments/  56927 views/  2 favorites

Pony Boy Ch. 01

By: Decayed Angel



I had followed her instructions and was now in position waiting for her. I had the tail firmly set in place and the halter, bridle and bit were tightened, ready for whatever she had in mind. Vickie said she would be over to the hotel between seven-thirty and eight, but it was already eight-fifteen and I had been on my hands and knees on the table for forty-five minutes now. Beginning to feel fatigued, I focused my mind on her body, how she felt when she was on my back riding me. With this incredible image in my mind I was able to keep my erection for the entire time I was waiting.

She had something planned, but I had no idea what it was, I only knew that I was to be ready, presentable for show. To prepare, I had showered, shaved my face and then my pubic hair, carefully pulling the blade over my balls and at the base of my cock. She let me shave my face with an electric razor, but she wanted my balls and cock smooth, so I used the razor. I had oiled myself down with musk scented hot oil, so my body not only glistened, it smelled pretty good. Although the room was a fairly comfortable temperature, I was straining a bit to kneel on the table and so I was beginning to sweat.

It was almost eight thirty when I heard her slide the card in the door and then open it. I was turned away from the door so I couldn't see her. Even if I was turned, I'm not sure I could see into the darkness past the bright lights that shined on me. Although I couldn't see her, I did pick up a whiff of her fragrance along with another scent, yes another perfume. She was not alone!

I remained motionless as the two women walked into the room. Staring forward I didn't dare move unless instructed to do so. All I could do is remain on display wondering what Vickie had in mind for me. It was several minutes before either of them spoke, I noticed Vickie sit down in a chair in front of me while her friend walked once more around me before sitting on the couch right next to me.

"Well, what do you think?" I heard Vickie ask.

"I've got to hand it to you, this was a surprise. I had no idea what you were up to when you pulled into the hotel," her friend said.

"He's my favorite of the stable, not necessarily the prettiest, but he follows my instructions perfectly." I noticed Vickie stand up and then walk by me. Then I felt the sharp sting of the riding crop on my ass. She struck me twice more in quick succession, saying, "Another reason I like him is his fair skin, look how nicely those red marks stand out on him."

"He doesn't mind you hitting him like that?"

"He doesn't have a choice in the matter, but as to whether you like it, just ask him," Vickie said.

"What's his name?"

"Just call him Red."

"Ah, for the hair," she replied. Suddenly I felt a strange tickling as her fingertips slid over me just above my cock, "Oh he shaved, too bad."

"Yes, I like them clean, gives me a better view."

"Oh but I would have loved to seen a dash of red down there." Moving around in front of me, she continued, "Red, do you like it when Vickie hits you?"

I turned my head and looked at Vickie who nodded, "If it pleases her I do," I mumbled, trying to talk with the bit in my mouth.

"Would you like it if she hits you?" Vickie asked me.

"If it pleases you Mistress," I mumbled.

"I'd much rather do something else," she replied. "May I?" she asked.

"He is there for our entertainment, feel free," Vickie answered.

I then felt her hand lightly tough my cock, her fingernails sliding down the length of me and out over my balls. Remaining motionless, I felt a shiver run through my body. She then reached her hand back to my cock and began stroking vigorously. Her other hand moved up along my chest and toyed with my nipple.

Concentrating hard, I fought the urge to move my hips as she stroked. Since Vickie did not give me permission to come, I had to bite hard on the bit, pinching my lips between the leather straps and the metal. The slight surge of pain helped me gain control but only for a moment. Soon the woman had me on the verge of orgasm when I heard a crack and felt the crop slap hard on the back of my thigh. The sharp stab of pain once again helped me maintain control and I fought off the climax.

Determined, the woman has started stroking me even faster when Vickie said, "He is trained to come only after I give him permission. He's normally very strong and can hold off, but I think he likes you. If you keep it up I'll have to punish him."

The woman stopped stroking my cock and I was left still posing, my cock twitching as slowly the urgency subsided and my breathing slowed. Feeling a tug on the reins, I crawled down off the table as I heard Vickie say, "He's been good, let's give him a treat."

"What kind of treat?" the woman asked.

"You'll see," Vickie replied stepping into the bathroom. From inside I heard her voice repeat, "You'll see," and I wondered what she had in mind. 

Pony Boy Ch. 02



I was on my hands and knees on the floor waiting to see what treat Vickie had in mind for me. Waiting for her to reappear from the bathroom, I tried to get a better look at the woman she had brought here. Having seen her pretty face, I wanted to get a look at the rest of her but all I could really see was her legs and a slight glimpse of panties as I looked up at her. Not able to move without permission, I kept looking up at her, hoping she might move a bit giving me either a glimpse at the rest of her or a good look at her panties.

Just at that moment, Vickie came out of the bathroom carrying a large bath towel saying, "He is well oiled and I don't want you to stain your skirt when you ride him."

I had maintained my erection all this time, but when I heard her say her friend was going to ride me I felt a tingle run through my balls. Vickie could sense my attraction to the woman and she enjoyed watching me fight off my animal urges. She saw it when the woman was stroking my cock and thankfully she hit me with her crop at just the right time to keep me from coming. Now, the woman was going to ride me.

Vickie placed the towel over my back and told her friend, "There's two ways I like to ride him. The first is with him upright, on two legs, but it takes a special saddle for that and I don't have it here. The second way to ride is bareback, on a towel with him on his hands and knees."

Stepping over me, the woman said, "This sounds like fun. I won't hurt him will I?"

"No, of course not, unless you step on his hand or something, and even if you do, I think he might like that."

I felt her weight come down on my back, but I didn't move, waiting for some instructions. Finally Vickie said, "It's okay, follow her lead."

When her friend shook the reins, I began crawling forward, moving over the carpet carefully, trying to avoid friction burns. I moved slowly at first, but she kept shaking the reins saying, "Come on, faster now, faster."

As I started moving even faster, careful not to move to violently and toss her off or bump her into furniture, I noticed she was leaning forward and had hooked her feet inside my thighs. Not really sure what she was doing I negotiated my way around the room, moving in and out of the furniture. It wasn't until I heard her moan that I realized she was grinding her clit against my back as I moved.

I bowed up my back a bit, trying to help her get a better angle and now could feel her moving rhythmically, humping my back. Trying to anticipate her movement I began to exaggerate my movements trying to lift up against her as she ground into me. Continuing to move, I saw Vickie watching very intently, her hand up between her legs caressing herself as she watched her friend get closer and closer to orgasm.

In just a few moments I heard Vickie moan and turned my head so I could see her face contorted in ecstasy. Staring at her, I continued moving about until I felt the woman on my back grab my shoulders and clamp her legs hard around me, groaning loudly as she came. I stopped as she collapsed on my back, breathing hard. Remaining motionless, I waited until the woman climbed off of me and removed the towel.

"Wow Vickie," she said, "that was some ride."

"Ah but wait, the show is not over yet. Give him the towel back and watch this," she said. The woman placed the towel on my back and the Vickie walked over, ran her had over my head and said, "Now come for us."

Rising up on just my knees, I grabbed the towel and spread it out in front of me. I then reached down and slowly wrapped my fingers around my cock. Staring intently into the eyes of Vickie's friend, I began stroking myself, slowly at first, but then building up speed. As I felt the pleasure increasing, I rocked my hips back and forth, fucking my fist while staring longingly at the woman.

With Vickie's instruction to come, I was quick, feeling the sensations run down my cock and into my balls. The pressure built up until I could hold it no more and came, spurting my cum out onto the towel in front of me again and again. I held my cock until the last of the cum dribbled out of it and then I took a corner of the towel and dabbed up the white, sticky liquid. Letting the towel fall back to the floor, I moved back into my show position, the only difference was my cock was no longer hard.

Smiling, Vickie stood up and looked at her friend. "Well it's time we got back to the office. Did you enjoy lunch?"

"It was ecstatic," was all she could say as she stood up, walked over to me and ran her fingers through my hair, "simply ecstatic."

Vickie smiled at me, bent over to kiss me and then whispered, "I'll see you later."

I remained in position for a full ten minutes after they left, making sure Vickie didn't return. After that I pulled the bit out of my mouth and laid down on the floor resting my tired arms and legs. I'd need all my strength for when Vickie returns.



Pony Boy Ch. 02



This story is the long awaited sequel to 'Pony Boy' and, if you haven't read that, then please do so first. Quite a bit of the story refers back to events in the first part and it won't make much sense if you read them out of order.

And, of course, there are the usual disclaimers; anyone involved in sexual acts is over eighteen and we're all fictional. 

Chapter 02 - Back to the Races

It was well gone noon when I finally woke after a fitful night's, or should that be morning's sleep. I made my way to the bathroom and started on my morning ablutions. My backside was sore where the 'tail' had been but it was nothing compared to how tender my balls were. I sat on the toilet, gently recuperating and thought back over the previous evening. 

What had I got myself into! How naïve had I been to somehow think that all I would be doing was a little 'pony' racing. I had never dreamt that I was, effectively becoming a rent boy for the night. So much for Mr H's promise that I wouldn't have to get involved in more than 'a certain amount of groping'; I had both given and received blow jobs. What's more, I had had some vision of the punters as dirty old men in raincoats, creepy but hardly threatening. The reality had been a massive wake up call. Arthur and his friends had been bad enough but Archie was positively terrifying. 

Still, it didn't really matter. I had survived and I was still in one piece, just. I would never want to do it again, whatever the cash on offer. Honest I wouldn't, honest!

But, as I thought over the things I had done I found that, despite the bruised and battered state of my balls, I was getting hard. Whether I went back or not, there were some aspects of what had happened that had shaken my concept of what I was and what I wanted. Take, for example, when I had been sat on Arthur's lap, playing the moxie. When he had slid his hand up my thigh and into my shorts I had been genuinely excited. As he had played with my prick I hadn't had to fake my response and, when I had kissed his nipple, for all that he had been a fat, ugly, slob, it had thrilled me as much as him.

And then, on my knees, being abused by Si, that had touched a nerve deep, deep inside me. By rights I should have been appalled. I had been tricked, hoodwinked, into a position where I was forced to give complete strangers blow jobs and yet, and yet, even now I could feel his prick filling my mouth and hear the words he used. Why did it thrill me so? Why did I ache to do it again?

In fact the whole pony boy experience had been so, so far from what I had expected. Andy had suggested that it was just young men parading around naked for the sexual gratification of dirty old perverts. What I hadn't bargained on was finding myself just as aroused as the 'perverts'. What did that make me?

Just thinking about what I had done was making me hard and I ended up gingerly stroking my prick but my balls were far too sore and I had to stop. Aroused or not, I wasn't going to be doing any wanking for a day or two. What's more, the day was fast slipping away. I had already missed the two lectures I had set for that morning, and, academically, I had nothing else in my diary. Part of me just wanted to go back to bed but Mr H still owed me money and, for that, I needed to go to his office. I wondered what he had meant by 'we have to talk'. That's never a phrase that bodes well. I gave myself a lick and a promise, scraped a razor over my face, got dressed in the loosest pair of sweatpants I could find, bunged on a tee shirt and went down to my car so as to drive to the Acme East offices.

"Hello, Ben! How's the old meat and veg?" Tracy said as soon as I entered.

I must have looked blank, I certainly felt it.

"Meat and veg? Family jewels? Your balls, sweetie, your balls. From what I heard Archie did quite a job on you. That'll put a stop to your wanking for a day or two." 

I just blushed, much to Tracy's amusement.

"Is Mr H...?" I asked.

"Hang on," she said before pressing a button on her phone. 

"Harold," she said when it was answered. "There's a young man with a squeaky voice come to see you. Yeah, that's the one. OK, Will do." She turned back to me. "Go on through, darlin', go on through. He's expecting you."

I went through to the back office and there was Mr H behind his desk. 

"Well, if it isn't my little pony. Which one are you, I wonder, Fluttershy, maybe?" he laughed. "How's the balls. Drop the keks and show Uncle Harold."

I nearly protested but, let's face it, he'd already seen it all and more and it was a bit late for modesty. I sighed deeply, undid the drawstring of my jogging bottoms and pushed them, along with my boxers, down to my knees.

"Come here, sonny, I can't see from over here."

Waddling somewhat with my trousers around my ankles I made my way over to the side of his desk. He beckoned me closer until I was standing right next to him. He reached down and, quite gently, gave them a feel. Even so I winced at the touch.

"Have you taken a piss yet? How was it?"

"I had one this morning, Mr H. It was fine," I replied.

"No blood in the urine?"

"No, none at all."

"You're OK. Just a bit bruised. Go and see a doctor if you want but he won't tell you anything different. Take it easy and you'll be fine by the day after tomorrow. Now, pull your pants up and take a pew."

I did as I was told and, as I was getting organised, he opened his desk drawer and pulled out a cash box and a note book.

"First things first; let's get the cash sorted. Now, let me see," he said looking through the notebook. "Turning up, that's eighty, three races in the main event, that's another sixty which makes ton forty all together. Then there's the two hundred for winning a post meet race plus tips totalling forty, sixty, ton twenty, ton sixty, ton eighty, two forty, two sixty. I make that four sixty from which I take twenty five percent or ton fifteen leaving three forty five for you. Add on the original ton forty makes a grand total four hundred and eighty five quid. Tell you what, I did pretty well out of you last night so I'll round it up to the full five hundred, can't say fairer than that, can I?"

"Five hundred! Thank you, Mr H!" Suddenly Malaysian beaches seemed a heck of a lot closer.

He took a pile of bills and peeled off fifties and twenties galore until he had made up five hundred pounds and then he handed it over. As I held the cash in my hand my balls didn't seem to hurt so badly. I put the money away in my wallet.

"So, the next meeting," Mr H started.

"Err... about that," I cut across.

"What about it?"

I thought of the money in my wallet and my resolve faltered but, really, I had been all but castrated. "I'm not sure... I'm not sure I want to do it again." I said after a while.

"Let me guess. You're not too keen on giving Archie another shot at crushing your balls, is that it?"

"Something like that. I'd like to have children one day."

"Yeah, he was a bit rough," Mr H laughed. "But apart from that? Apart from Archie you didn't seem to be having any problems at all. You seemed to be having a fair old time with Arthur and his friends. Blow jobs all round, wasn't it?"

"Apart from Archie, the rest of it was... yeah, I guess it was OK," I replied. I was far too confused about how I felt to explain it to myself, let alone Mr H. Mind you, even with Archie I was actually tempted. Five hundred quid! Malaysia, here we go! If I could pick up that sort of money then the new iPhone was also on the cards. But, whatever the cash, I knew I should just walk away. The only viable option was to take the five hundred and write everything else off to experience. Why was walking away so hard, why was there was part of me that didn't want to?

"The thing is," Mr H went on, "I've had quite a bit of interest in you. Quite a few said that they wanted to see you run in more races and were disappointed that you weren't available at the party afterwards. As I said, it makes a change to have a pony who's not covered in tats and track lines."

"It wasn't my fault I wasn't available," I protested.

"No, they understand that. They all heard about what Archie did. So, about the next meeting..."

I was tempted, sorely tempted. Five hundred quid! But the money was just the icing on the cake. If only... And then another twinge from my balls reminded me exactly why not.

"I'm sorry, Mr H," I said as firmly as I could. "You said it yourself. I'm not really tough enough to be a pony boy. Archie... Archie really scared me last night."

"Archie scares most people. Are you sure I can't persuade you, really sure?"

Mr H seemed almost too keen to get me racing again. I was sure there was something he wasn't telling me and the more I distrusted him the more I felt I had to get as far away as possible. As it was it took all but half an hour before I could extricate myself and make my way home.

And that should have been that. I'd had my walk on the wild side. I should leave it be, chalk it up to experience and be grateful I got out of with my balls attached.

But it seemed that leaving it be wasn't an option. Five days later that, as I made my way to college, two bruisers came up to me, blocking my way into the building. 

"Archie wants a word," one said without any preamble.

I looked at the two goons and realised that they knew exactly what they were doing and, just as importantly, that I didn't. Putting up a fight would be worse than useless. Whether I liked it or not, I was going to have a word with Archie. They marched me to a waiting car, put me in the back seat, and got in either side of me. The car pulled away and took us to a mini-cab firm somewhere in Barking. The goons manhandled me through to the garage around the back, the mechanics were told to fuck off and have a tea break, and there I was standing in front of Archie himself.

"Ah, Ben, thanks for coming to see me. I so wanted to have a little chat," he said rather too sweetly. "You weren't at last night's race meeting. A little bird tells me you don't fancy the racing any more. I don't think that's right, is it?"

I was shitting myself, not quite literally, but close enough. In a desperate attempt to keep things light I tried humour.

"I found... I found racing injurious to my health. Last time I went I nearly lost my balls."

Archie smiled but not the sort of smile that reassures.

"Injurious to your health? You won't go racing because you might get hurt? Oh, no, that's not how it goes at all. It's pretty simple. You'll end up getting hurt if you don't go. There's a race meeting next week and, if you want to keep hold of your balls, you're racing in it. Do I make myself clear?"

"Race meeting? But I told Mr H...."

"In which case you'd better go and untell him. Go round to his office and tell him you've changed your mind, sort of thing."

"I guess I'll have to," I replied.

"Too damn right you have to. Look, sunshine, I've decided to take an interest in you. I've decided that you're going to go back to racing and you're going to do it under my orders. You'll race just the way I tell you to, won't you."

"I'll try my best."

"Oh, you'll try a lot harder than that. Did you think that I hurt you? Last time, at the party, were your balls a little sore afterwards?"

"I... I couldn't walk properly for a week."

"Well that's nothing to what I'll do to you if you don't do as you're told. If you're a good little boy then, maybe I wont have to hurt you again. But one slip, one little slip, and it will be far, far worse than last time. Do I make myself clear."

"Yes, Mr Archie."

He came and stood right in front of me, reached down and, inevitably, grabbed my balls and twisted.

"Please, Mr Archie, Sir...."

"What?"

"I'll do it, I'll race the way you want me to, promise I will but I won't be able to if my balls hurt too much. I could hardly walk for a week last time."

He gave a further twist and a push and I fell backwards on the concrete floor. Quick as a flash he was on me. He put his foot on my face and ground it into the dirt. I felt a warm damp patch spread across my groin as I pissed myself.

"From now on you're mine. You belong to me. You do everything I say when I say it and you don't give any grief, none what so ever. Now then, who do you belong to?"

"You, Sir."

"I can't hear you."

"You, sir, I'm yours, Sir. I'll do anything you say sir" I sobbed.

"And don't you ever forget it. Oh, and one last point," he pushed his foot harder into my face, "you don't need to go telling anyone about our little arrangement. You stay completely schtum, not a dickie bird. And, if you're thinking of running away, running back to mummy and daddy at...," here her reeled off my home address, "then think again. We wouldn't want anything to happen to that pretty little sister of yours. How old is she now? Sixteen. It would be a shame if she met with an... accident."

"No, no, please, I'll do what you tell me to; I'll do anything you say," I sobbed. "I won't tell anyone. You can trust me. Honest you can." The true horror of what he was suggesting came home to me. He already knew where I lived, where my family lived and, if he could hurt me then... oh, god, what had I got myself into.

"Anything I say? Let's see shall we." He took his foot off my face and walked a pace or two away from me. "That's your mess on my nice clean floor. Lick it up. Go on."

I got up on my hands and knees and, yes, there was a puddle where I had pissed myself. However, calling his floor clean was another matter. However repulsive it might be I had no choice so I did exactly what he said, putting my face down in the puddle and licking it up, much to his amusement. 

"That's enough," he said after a while. He turned to the two goons who were standing by, watching. "Get him out of my sight and remember, I want him fit to race next week." 

Right you are, Archie," one of the goons replied and he leant down, grabbed my arm, lifted me up off the floor, and took me to a van where he all but threw me in the back. He was rough but, compared to Archie, he didn't actually hurt me. He didn't need to, I was scared enough as it was.

They didn't take me back to college but chucked me out somewhere near Plaistow tube station. Luckily I had enough cash to buy a ticket home. However, I didn't go to lectures, I went back to my digs. I needed a shower and a change of clothes and I was far to scared to concentrate on college work. The threats that he might hurt me were bad enough but the thought that he might hurt Jenny, my younger sister, that didn't bear thinking about. I felt sick to my stomach and could barely function. However, there was one thing I had to do; I had to phone Mr. H, I had to tell him I'd changed my mind about racing. I called the office number and, inevitably, got Tracy. 

"Hi, Tracy, it's Ben," I said as soon as she answered. "I need to talk to Mr H, right away."

"What's up Ben? I thought you'd run away like a scared little boy."

"I just need to see Mr H, urgently. Please, it's really important"

"Ooh, really important is it. I'd better find out if he's free. Hang on a sec," there was a pause while, presumably, she consulted Mr. H. "Can you get here for two o'clock?"

"Two o'clock. Yeah, thanks. I'll see you then."

It was one forty-five when I knocked on the office door and went in to find Tracy behind her desk.

"You're a bit early. Take a seat, will you?" She reached for the intercom and pressed a button. "Harold, I've got Ben in the outer office. OK, I'll keep him here."

I guess he only kept me waiting for ten minutes but it felt like an eternity before the buzzer on Tracy's desk went and she told me I could go in.

"'Ello, Ben, I thought we'd seen the back of you," Mr. H said as I entered. "What can I do you for?"

"Please, Mr. H, I need to race again. There's a meeting next week, isn't there. Can I join in? Can I race for you, please?" Even I could hear how pathetic I sounded.

Mr. H sat back and gave me a long cool look. 

"And if I say 'no', what happens then?"

"Please, Mr H, I have to." I was starting to panic.

"You have to? Why do you have to?"

"I... I... Please, Mr H." I couldn't help it. I was so scared, so trapped, tears came to my eyes. "Please, don't ask why, I just have to."

"What happened to your cheek?" he asked.

"I... I slipped and fell."

"You slipped and fell and the next thing you're round here begging me to let you race. Someone's been putting the frighteners on you. Let me guess, have you just had a little chat with Archie?"

"I can't... I can't tell you that."

"So that's a 'yes' then."

"Please, please don't let him know I told you."

"He scared the shit out of you, didn't he?"

"Please, Mr H, just let me race."

He looked at me for a while but not unkindly. After a while he seemed to come to a decision.

"OK, the next meet is on Thursday. Seven o'clock at the same pick up point. Can you manage that?"

"Thank you, Mr H, thank you."

"If it is Archie who's behind this then he won't let it stop at that, you know. Did he order you to throw a race?"

"No, he didn't do that. I won't throw any races, honest I won't."

"Make sure you don't. I won't have it. If you're racing then you're racing to win. Is that completely understood?"

"Yes, Mr. H, of course, Mr. H."

"Don't you ever forget it. OK, I'll see you on Thursday, then."

"Thanks, Mr H, thank you."

I made my way back to my digs. For the umpteenth time I wondered what on earth had I got myself involved with. I felt so powerless against all these people.

By the time Thursday evening had rolled around and I was waiting at the pick-up point I was shitting bricks. Still, I didn't dare back out now. The minibus pulled up and I got in along with a couple of others. I recognised quite a few faces from last time and even got a couple of nods of acknowledgement. I wasn't exactly one of the lads but I wasn't quite the outsider I was last time. I curled up in a corner and kept myself to myself. Even Jed left me alone.

Just like last time, when we finally arrived, the minibus was parked inside a warehouse. I'm pretty sure it was actually the same warehouse as last time. It certainly looked the same. There was the same hanging around waiting for the other minibuses arrived and, after the fourth discharged its load there must have been over twenty of us milling around. But not for long; we were soon rounded up and trooped off to the showers. As I got undressed I looked around at the other 'ponies'. They were pretty much the same bunch as the last time. They were all rougher, tougher and all together more street wise than I would ever be. However much Archie wanted me racing I was never really going to fit in.

As we cavorted under the showers there was the usual mixture of horseplay and joshing. Jed came over using the excuse of borrowing the hair shampoo.

"When you weren't here last week I thought you'd run away like the scared little girl you are. I'm glad you're back, You and me, we've got business to settle. You got lucky last time. Next time it's going to be you on your knees with my prick shoved down your throat, got me."

I just looked at him. When compared to Archie, Jed was a mere beginner as a frightener. His threats were the least of my problems.

I was shivering, and not from the cold, when, with the shower over, we put our trainers back on and lined up ready to be inspected and assigned our race numbers. Mr. H treated me just the same as the others and he inspected me just as thoroughly. His list of checks included having me bent over as he examined my arse. He then reached between my legs and fondled my balls but it was all as sexless as a visit to the docs and I got a clean bill of health. While he was doing all this I overheard him talking to the minibus driver about how he wanted me and Jed in opposite sides of the draw. "Jed and Ben in the final, that would be perfect. Half the punters know there's a bit of needle between them so there should be plenty of action," he explained. He finished looking me over so I stood back in line again. He looked at me, smiled and gave me a wink. "Cheer up, sonny Jim, It might never happen." I wasn't so sure.




Pony Boy Ch. 02



When he had selected the sixteen ponies he was going to use we all went out into the centre circle and over to the waiting line of sulkies. I had been assigned number five, Jed number nine. It was all a lot less daunting than last time. At least I knew what to expect. Better than that, I had only been waiting a few moments when Pete, the jockey who had helped me beat Jed, came over. It would appear that he had been assigned to my sulky.

"Ello, my old mucker. How are you this fine evening."

"I'm fine, Pete, I'm fine."

"You don't look it. Come on, cheer up. You look like a damp Tuesday. Now, let's get you kitted up." He reached for the bundle of straps at my feet and started on the belt that went around my waist.

His practiced fingers made short work of the straps and buckles and, in no time, I was once again kneeling forward with my arse in the air having a tail inserted into my rectum. I don't know whether it was because Pete used a lot more lubricant than Charlie, my previous jockey, or whether it was because the last time had left me stretched a little, or maybe it was because I didn't fight it so much but it wasn't such a struggle to get the plug in my arse. I still felt ludicrously full. 

With the tail in place he helped me back on my feet and attached my wrists to the poles of the sulky. This was the point where it got real; I was trapped, from now until the end of the racing the sulky was going to be my constant partner. Now that my range of movement was limited, he adjusted the straps that ran between my arse cheeks and, more relevantly, eased my prick and balls through the piece at the front. 

"Ooh, this will never do," he said, taking my prick between his fingers. We need you looking all nice for the punters. Stiff pricks, that's what they pay for." His fingers worked away and did their magic. "That's better, now you're getting harder."

I didn't know how much was the pony gear and how much was Pete's fingers but, in no time, he had me as hard as rock. He made me realise that, ever since my interview with Archie, I'd been too worried and upset to have a wank. It had been days since I had had had any relief and this felt just perfect. All too soon he stopped and, frustratingly, encased my prick in the short straps which held it against the codpiece.

"Happier now, aren't you? Now, we'll just get your hobble fixed and then we're done."

He fitted the hobble between my ankles and then, as had happened last time, he adjusted the blinkers so that I was blindfolded. 

"See you later. Don't run away." And, with that, he was gone.

And there I was, once again, hobbled, blindfolded, effectively gagged, all but naked, fastened to a sulky and waiting to take part in pony races. I felt that same heady mixture of fear and excitement. Pete seemed to have done up the straps around my prick really tightly and it felt thick and strong and proud, standing up in front of me. I found that, by flexing my muscles, I could get a little friction. Not much but it felt good. In fact it felt so good that I was drifting away with the fairies when...

"Evenin' Ben. Glad to see you could make it," Archie said and I realised he was standing right next to me. He reached down and cradled my balls in his hand. "I do hope you haven't forgotten our little arrangement. Just nod to show me you understand."

I nodded, rather frantically.

"Very good. Because you really don't want to make me have to hurt you," he gave my balls a squeeze, "so make sure you win for me."

"Hello Archie," I heard Mr H come over. "I do hope you're not upsetting the ponies."

"Oh, no, Mr H. I'm just giving this one a little piece of advice. That's all."

"I know your sort of advice, Archie, leave him alone." And that was enough to get Archie to leave and I was once more alone to stew in my thoughts.

It wasn't long before the bulk of the punters started to arrive and, as with last time, I was getting plenty of attention. There was quite a bit of chat about how well I had done on my previous outing and I gathered that I was favourite to go all the way. As they discussed my merits as a pony, they were not shy about touching me and more than a few took the opportunity to stroke my prick in it's cage of straps. I'm normally pretty shy but, in my harness and all, it felt good to be so praised and I was getting really turned on. 

Come the actual racing Mr H announced that this would be a handicap event with special weights being added to the sulkies so as to even things out a bit. Even so, the racing seemed to be pretty much following the form book. My first heat was pretty easy. I was against one of the weaker ponies and, even with the extra weight, I got in front of him before the first turn and it was easy to stay there.

The second heat was tougher but, with Pete's guidance, I made a surge at exactly the right time, the other pony was caught flat footed and was ahead long before the last lap.

I was beginning to appreciate the difference the weights made. It was harder to get the sulky moving and, just as importantly, harder to keep it upright around the bends. I nearly didn't make it in the third heat but, on the final lap, Pete flicked my reins and called out to me and, giving it everything I had, I won by a length or so. Pete took me back to the centre circle and I looked at the results. Just as Mr H had wanted, it was down to me and Jed in the final, a race over eight laps. 

Fortunately we had a bit of time to get our breath back and I was resting up in the centre circle, psyching my self up for the final race when Archie came over along with some cohorts. They gathered around, ostentatiously arguing my merits as a pony. Using this as cover, Archie came right up to me so he wouldn't be overheard.

"My money's on Dark Arrow," he said, calling Jed by his pony name. "It would be most upsetting if he were to lose. Got me?"

I nodded. I'd known all along that this was going to happen. It was inevitable that Archie was going to order me to throw a race. However, I had Mr. H's words echoing in my mind. I looked up and there he was. He had seen Archie talking to me. If I threw the race then Mr. H would know what I had done. If I didn't....

I was worried sick as I was led out onto the course and lined up next to Jed. Whatever I did I was going to end up upsetting someone and it was quite clear that these were the sort of guys you want to keep happy.

And then we were off. We set off pretty much neck and neck but my sulky was still carrying a lot of weight and my legs were getting tired. In addition, Jed seemed to be trying harder and it was all I could do to keep up. As we came down the back straight of the sixth lap Pete gave me the signal but I couldn't find the burst of power I needed to get past him and we were even stevens as we approached the turn. I felt Pete pulling me back but I thought I could make it, Just a little more, just a little further and...

Suddenly I was so angry about the way these people seemed to think they could just push me around. It wasn't just Pete pulling on the reins, I'd been bullied by Jed and by Archie and even Mr. H made sure I knew who was the boss. Fuck 'em, fuck 'em all!

Fuelled by this adrenalin I powered into a gap that wasn't really there, barged Jed out of the way, and forced my way through. Fuck 'em! I screamed internally as I put everything I had into the seventh lap, and then the eighth before crossing the finish line so far in front it wasn't true. I loved the sound of the cheers, the way I was everyone's hero. I felt good and strong.

And then I saw Archie and I didn't feel strong at all. He was holding a betting slip and, making sure I could see what he was doing, he tore it in half and threw the pieces on the floor. My joy at winning turned to ashes in my mouth.

Pete took me back to the centre circle, parked me up and reapplied the hobble. 

"You nearly killed me back there. Next time we race you make sure you follow instructions," he said as he sponged me down. "That was about as foolish as they come. You nearly had us both over. Mind you, it took some bottle. I didn't know you had in in you."

While he was seeing to me quite a crowd was gathering and, as the winning pony, I was very much the centre of attention. They stood around drinking champagne and discussing how much they had won or lost. I was lapping it up, loving every second but I knew it couldn't last. I knew what was coming and there he was, pushing through the crowd, Archie. He didn't say anything, he couldn't say anything what with the crowds and all, but he didn't need to. The look of pure hatred said all that was necessary. I was in for a world of pain.

"Hello Archie. Admiring my pony?"

"Your pony, Mr Mason?"

I was just as surprised as Archie. What with the blinkers and all I could only look straight forward and Mr Mason had come up from behind me. I turned my head and looked to my left and there he was, looking as cool as ever. He put his arm over my shoulder and made as if to adjust my bridle using this as cover to whisper in my ear. "It's him or me, time to choose, Ben." I looked at him and remembered the way he had looked after me last time. He had to be better than Archie, anything would be better than Archie. I gave the slightest of nods to show I understood.

"Oh, yes. He works for me, nowadays," Mr Mason said to Archie. "Part of my stable. I hope you don't have a problem with this."

"Oh, no problem, no problem at all, Mr Mason. I didn't know he was yours, that's all." 

For a moment or two Mr Mason and Archie stared at each other. I had no idea about the politics behind all this but it would seem that, if I was part of Mr Mason's 'stable' then I no longer belonged to Archie and I was free of his threats. In the end the staring contest was no contest at all and, somewhat crestfallen, Archie slunk away. A huge wave of relief washed through me. 

"Good lad," Mr Mason said quietly. "I'll see you later."

Now that the main meeting was over it was time for the ad-hoc races and there was quite a clamour to have me racing again and again and again. Of course, this meant that I was tiring and I couldn't keep up my winning streak. Try as hard as I could I ended up losing a few. I was resting up after another disappointing race when Mr Mason came up to me with another man in tow. Like Mr Mason this man was, I would guess, in his forties but fit and athletic in his build. Neither looked the sort to be scared of anything.

"So this is your new pony, the one you were talking about?" Mr Mason's friend asked in a strong German accent. He walked around, examining me from all angles.

"That's the one."

"Well, he's certainly pleasing to look at. It is good that he has no tattoos. These young men are to quick to mark themselves. May I?"

"Be my guest."

Mr Mason's friend undid the straps that held my prick and, looking me straight in the eye, started to play with me. I had no objections to being called 'pleasing to look at' and even fewer at having him stroke my prick. God, it felt good. I smiled at the man as sweetly as the bit in my mouth would allow.

"Yes, very pleasing. He is available?"

"For you, Hans, anything you want. I just want to make your trip as pleasant as possible. It can't all be business."

"It certainly can't." He chucked me under the chin. "I'll see you later."

Laughing together, Mr Mason and Hans wandered back to the racing.

And then the last race was over and the crowds started to disperse. Pete came over and unhitched me from my sulky and I went off with the others to take off the pony gear and get under the shower. I assumed that, once again, we ponies would be taken to a party and I was busy getting myself as clean as possible when, across the showers, I heard the shout

"Hey, bum boy."

I ignored it.

"I'm talking to you, bum boy."

This time I looked up and, inevitably, it was Jed shouting across to me.

"Just because you've become Mr Mason's bum boy doesn't let you off the hook. You're just another in a very long line. He'll soon get bored with you and then...."

"And then what?"

"And then you'll be my bum boy."

"In your dreams, Jed, in your dreams." 

I wasn't exactly sure what being Mr Mason's bum boy meant, although I had plenty of ideas, but, for the moment, it seemed to give me some immunity and I was happy to put Jed in his place.

Washed and dried, we went through, changed into our silk running shorts and piled into the minibus to be taken to the party. I was expecting very much the same thing as before except for this thing about my being, as Jed put it, Mr Mason's bum boy. It had to be better than whatever Archie had in store for me, that was certain.

When we got to the house the other ponies were given trays of canapés, just like last time, but I was taken to one side. 

"Mr Mason wants to see you. He's in that alcove over there."

I followed the directions and, sure enough, there in the alcove was Mr Mason along with a couple of others. They were sat in a circle of deep leather armchairs and, as I approached, he looked up and saw me.

"Ah, Ben, there you are. Come and sit down." He patted his lap to show me where I was supposed to sit. I placed myself across his left thigh and, at his bidding, snuggled into the crook of his arm. His free hand went straight to my bare legs, right to the top of my legs, up into the leg of the shorts, and started stroking my prick.

"You like that, don't you, Ben? You like being my pony?"

"Ooh, yes, Mr Mason, it's really nice," and I wasn't lying. I felt safe and secure in his arms and his hand was playing sweet music down below. 

"Well, I couldn't leave you with a thug like Archie, could I?"

"Thank you, Mr. Mason, thank you. I really owe you one."

"Don't worry about that now. Just sit quietly and enjoy the party." I snuggled further into him and relaxed. His fingers felt so good. I wasn't going to come or anything but it kept me nicely on the boil. For a while we just sat like that while he chatted away with the other guys. 

"Ben, I want you to do something for me," he said after a while.

"Of course, Mr Mason, anything you want. You know that." After all, he had rescued me from Archie so I wasn't in a position to refuse. Anyway, I was feeling so mellow I would have said yes even if I didn't owe him.

"Do you remember Herr Schlick, the gentleman who was with me earlier?"

"Hans?"

"That's Herr Schlick, to you, sunshine. Don't get cocky."

"Yes, Mr Mason, sorry Mr Mason."

"I want you to go and find him and, when you do you say to him 'Mr Mason sends his complements and he wishes to know if I can do anything for you.'. Got that? Repeat it back."

"Mr Mason sends his complements and he wishes to know if I can do anything for you."

"That's a good lad. And I want you nice and hard for him. As hard as you are now. Can you manage that?"

"I'll do my best, Sir."

"You do that and, tomorrow morning, I want to hear from Herr Schlick what a really good time he had. Best ever. All understood?"

"Yes, Mr Mason."

So that was it. Now it was payback time. Now I knew exactly what Mr Mason had meant by being part of his 'stable'. The thing was, even though I didn't have any choice in the matter, I'm not sure I would have refused anyway. There was something deliciously dirty about all this. The thrill of being so brazen, the walk on the wild side. It wasn't just his hand on my prick which was keeping me hard. 

"Now, off you trot, there's a good boy."

He eased me off his lap and I went to look for Herr Schlick. The thin silk of the running shorts did nothing to hide my erection; the tent was completely obvious and I got quite a few comments as I moved through the party. I found him sitting on a sofa, part of quite a crowd, so I went up and waited for him to notice me.

"Hello," he said, looking me up and down. "You are the College Boy, Andy Mason's new pony, is that right."

"That's right, Sir. Mr Mason sends his complements and he wishes to know if I can do anything for you."

"Mr Mason is very kind," Herr Schlick replied. He looked down at the coffee table. "My glass, I am out of champagne. This is not good."

I picked up the near empty glass, rushed off to find a waiter, and returned moments later with a full one.

"No, don't put it on the table. You sit on my lap and hold it for me. Make sure it's never empty again."

Just as with Mr Mason, I snuggled onto his lap and into the crook of his arm. Just like Mr Mason, he put his free hand on my thigh and slid it up until he was playing with my prick. As Mr Mason had wanted, he found me hard and ready for him. As soon as he touched me I got harder still.

"You are excited? Is that for me?" he asked quietly as he squeezed my prick.

"Oh, yes, Sir. It's all for you," I replied.

"Just sit there quietly, like a good girl and I'll get round to you later, OK?"

"Whatever you want, Herr Schlick."

He went back to chatting while I sat on his lap and fed him champagne, getting up and refilling his glass from time to time. However, it wasn't just champagne. Just as with Arthur and his friends, there was a bowl of white powder on the table and, after a while, I was ordered to chop out some lines. As I handed the mirror around one of the others noticed the bulge in my shorts and commented on it.

"Looks like someone is hot and ready to trot."

"Who wouldn't be when they've been sat on Herr Schlick's lap," I replied.

"Ooh, hark at him. So what's your story, sonny?"

"I'm a present to Herr Schlick from Mr Mason."

"Are you, indeed. And what will you do for Herr Schlick?"

"Anything he wants. Mr Mason is a very generous man." I wondered if I was going a little over the top but they all seemed to be lapping it up.

"And what about us? Is Mr Mason generous towards us as well?"

"That's down to Herr Schlick. It's up to him whether he wants to share his presents."

"How about you do a little dance for us? Get up on the coffee table and strut your stuff. Can you do that?"

I glanced across at Herr Schlick who nodded briefly. 

I moved the drinks, the bowl of condoms and the coke over to a side table and climbed up. The music wasn't too loud, nor was it really my sort of thing but it had a good beat and there was plenty to dance to. As I started to sway in time to the music I tried to make it as sexy as possible and I must have succeeded because, before long, others had spotted me and I had quite a crowd, clapping, jeering, egging me on.

"Shorts off! Shorts off!" someone started cheering and quite a few of the others took up the chant. Again I glanced at Herr Schlick and I think he liked the fact I asked for permission as he smiled as he nodded assent.

Remembering that a striptease, even if you're only wearing one garment, is as much about the tease as it's about the strip, I made as big a deal as possible out of taking off my shorts. I pushed them down, I pulled them back, I flipped up the back and pulled up the front. And then, after I finally slipped them over my hips, I held my hand over my prick as I let then slide down my legs. Now that they were off I stepped out of them and used my foot to flick them into Herr Schlick's lap. He laughed as he caught them. And then I played shy, keeping one hand over my prick and the other over my nipples except when, as part of the dance, I 'accidentally' exposed myself. The music was coming to a climax so I finally lifted my arms over my head and, with my stiff prick jutting out in front of me, strutted my stuff like a good'un.

God, I was loving it. Me, little old me, centre of attention. Surrounded by a cheering crowd clapping along in time to the music. Pony boy or stripper, whatever you want, bring it on!

Of course, it couldn't last forever. The track ended so I finished my dance, gave a bow and stepped back down off the coffee table. Herr Schlick gave me a great big smile so I sat back down on his lap and kissed him. He kissed me straight back, tongue and everything. I was so high with the adrenalin rush from dancing that it felt wonderful and I didn't for one moment find anything odd about being stark naked in front of all these people while kissing another man. 




Pony Boy Ch. 02



"Horny little sod, isn't he?" someone called out.

"What is this 'horny little sod'? It means sexy, Yes?" Herr Schlick whispered in my ear.

"Yes, Sir, sexy for you, Sir, really really sexy," I whispered back.

"Come on then."

He eased me off his lap and got to his feet. He was actually pretty drunk and he leant on me quite heavily.

"Gentlemen, I am going to spend some time with my horny little sod. I shall see you all in the morning."

"Goodnight, Hans, don't do anything I wouldn't do," came the ribald cheers after him.

Mr Mason seemed to appear out of nowhere.

"How are we doing, Hans, all OK?"

"All good, Andy, very good. And now I am going to take this young pony of yours for a ride." Herr Schlick gave me a bit of a cuddle.

"You'll need to cover him up a bit if you're taking him back to the hotel. Here, I have just the thing."

Mr Mason guided us towards the front door and, just before we got there, he reached into a side cupboard and fetched out a raincoat and passed it over to me. I put it on and buttoned it up just as the front door opened. There was a car all ready waiting and Mr Mason guided us down the front steps of the house and into it.

Herr Schlick was just getting settled and I was still outside the car when Mr Mason took me to one side. 

"Best night of his life, remember. You're doing OK so far, don't let me down now."

"I won't, Mr Mason," I replied and I got in the car with Herr Schlick. Mr Mason gave instructions to the driver and we were off.

As soon as I was in I snuggled up to him and he responded with a passion. He undid the buttons on my raincoat so I responded by undoing the buttons of his shirt. We were at it hammer and tongs when the driver slid back the partition and announced that we would be at the hotel in five minutes. We tidied ourselves up and made ourselves presentable, well, as presentable as you can be when the only thing you're wearing is a rain coat.

I didn't catch the name of the hotel but I can tell you it was posh. It was also very discreet. The doorman must have noticed my bare legs poking out from under my raincoat, along with my complete lack of shoes, but he didn't bat an eyelid. Herr Schlick ordered a bottle of champagne to be sent up to the room and, together, we went over to the lifts.

His suite was, inevitably, on the top floor and the views were fantastic. I shed the raincoat and found the radio, tuning it to a station playing light jazz. Herr Schlick had gone for a piss and I wanted to be ready for him when he returned. For a moment I was alone and, for a moment I started to wonder what I had got myself into this time. I had promised Mr Mason that I would do anything Herr Schlick wanted, anything at all and, if Mr Mason was in a position to put a stop to Archie then he was obviously a man used to being obeyed. He hadn't threatened me but, then, he didn't need to.

Herr Schlick returned looking every inch the alpha male. He might have been a little squiffy but he was no buffoon like Arthur and his mates, nor a thug like Archie. He was a man used to having his own way and my job was to please him. I went over and kissed him.

We were still in a clinch when there was a knock at the door. 

"I think that the champagne has arrived," Herr Schlick said. "Off you go."

I was about to comment on my lack of clothing but thought better of it. I went to the door and it was, indeed, room service with the champagne. The maid that had brought it took no notice of my nakedness but took the bottle and glasses through to the main body of the suite and, after checking with Herr Schlick, she opened it and poured it out.

"Thank you, young lady," Herr Schlick said as she passed us a glass each before leaving.

The radio was playing something slow and smoochie so I used it to smooch up to Herr Schlick. Holding my champagne in my left hand, used my right to undo his shirt buttons. He was obviously no stranger to the gym. This wasn't the chest of a fat slob but the firm well defined pecs of a fit strong man. I ran my hands over them, feeling their strength, feeling their firmness. It wasn't hard to play sexy, he was a massive turn on and I genuinely wanted to kiss every inch of him. However, his chest wasn't all I wanted to kiss, not by a long chalk. There was still one part of his anatomy I had yet to check out and I'd waited long enough. Still swaying to the music I took another swig of champagne before reaching down, undoing his belt, undoing his fly, opened up his trousers and feeling inside.

Now, at that point I wasn't the world's greatest expert on pricks, although I had seen more in the previous couple of weeks than in the whole of the rest of my life, but Herr Schlick's was, to my mind, just perfect. Big without being huge and hard as a rock. I got down on my knees, pushing his trousers down as I did so, and kissed and worshipped his balls. I wanted to kiss the tip, I really wanted to kiss the tip but, without a condom... well, I might have been a bit green but I'm not that foolish.

"What are you waiting for?" Herr Schlick demanded and, for a moment, I thought he was going to insist that I gave him a blow job without a condom. 

"Do you have a...." I paused, letting the question hang

"Ah, you are needing a Kondom." He left me kneeling there for a moment, went to his bedside draw and returned with the silver foil packet which he passed to me. He stood there with his hands on his hips as I unwrapped the condom and, keeping it as sexy as possible, slipped it over his shaft. Now I could do what I wanted to; now I could kiss and lick and suck to my heart's content.

This was so much better than Arthur and his friends. This was a real man, a strong man, a big man, stood there like a king, feet apart and hands on his hips as I tried to take as much of him as I could. 

I must have been doing something right because, in no time, he was thrusting himself into my mouth. He put his hands behind my head to get a better purchase. I didn't care that I was nearly gagging, far from, I wanted to be treated like that. Use me, Herr Schlick, use me!

However, a blow job wasn't what he wanted, nor, to tell the truth, was it what I wanted to give him. Any misgivings I might have had had evaporated in the heat of the moment. Giving this man what he wanted was playing straight into fantasies I never knew I had. He pushed me away before pulling off the rest of his clothes and leaving them in a heap on the floor. Then he ordered me to stand against the window, forearms flat to the glass, looking out. He came up behind me, kicked my feet further apart and I felt him pushing against me.

"Du bist meine Schlampe. Do you understand Schlampe."

"I'm your... your Schlampe, yes, Sir, please, Sir." I didn't know what Schlampe meant but I could guess from the tone of his voice.

"Tell me, Schlampe, tell me what you want."

"I want to be fucked," and that wasn't a word of a lie.

"Fucked, how fucked." 

"Fucked up the arse. Please sir, fuck your Schlampe, fuck me right up the arse."

I felt his prick pushing harder against my arsehole. If I hadn't been left fully lubricated by having the tail up there earlier it might never have worked. As it was it was painfully tight and Herr Schlick was anything but gentle. But, for all that each thrust made me cry out in pain, nothing I had ever felt before had been anywhere near as good. Each thrust just made me harder, a point not lost on Herr Schlick when he reached around and found my prick as stiff as it had ever been. As he rammed himself into my arse he pumped my prick at the same time.

"Du bist eine schmutzige Hure, understand, Hure!"

"Yes sir, Hure, sir!" That one wasn't too hard to guess, Hure, whore, they practically sounded the same. And that was what I was, his Hure.

"Was (thrust) bist (thrust) du? (thrust)" he asked, his voice a guttural snarl. "Sag mir Hure, let me hear you shout it out."

"I'm a Hure, your Hure, a cheap filthy whore who loves being fucked up the arse. Please, Sir, please, fuck me harder, please, harder, oh, god, yes, please, aargh!"

He shot his load inside me. I wished he hadn't been wearing a condom, I really wanted to feel his spunk, so deep, deep inside me. As he came he squeezed my prick and that made me come as well, my spunk shooting from me. For maybe half a dozen thrusts he pushed inside me until every drop was spent and he had had enough. He pulled out, took off the condom and put it in my hand.

"Clear up this Scheisse. I'm going to bed."

I took the condom to the en suite and flushed it down the bog. Then I went to the kitchenette where I found a cloth which I used to wipe up my spunk where it was dripping down the wall under the window. That done, I went back to the en suite and had a quick wash and, for the first time in my life I understood the need for a bidet. My arse was the proverbial ring of fire but there was fuck all I could do about it, fuck all I wanted to do about it. I could tell where he had been and I wanted to tell where he had been. Now, tired and spent, I just needed to sleep. I went back to the bedroom to find Herr Schlick already fast asleep, dead to the world.

I slipped under the covers beside him. What else could I do. The only clothing I had was the raincoat Mr Mason had given me and my house keys were god knows where in the white plastic bag that I hadn't seen since I had left the warehouse.

As I lay there next to Herr Schlick I wondered what had happened to me. There was no denying that I was now a prostitute who had just serviced his first client. Well, if you don't count Arthur and his mates. The thing was that only part of me was horrified. I'd been all but raped and yet it had turned me on so much I had come. My arse felt like a red hot poker had been shoved up it but part of me couldn't wait until the next time. Herr Schlick had had me shout out that I was a cheap filthy Hure. No, that's not quite true. The Hure bit was him; I'd added the cheap and filthy bit. Why did I find that so exciting? I could pretend that I had only played along for fear of what Mr Mason might do if I let him down. I could pretend, but I'd only be lying.

And, with that, I drifted off to sleep.

*********

And there ends part two. There will be a part three, eventually. I'll try not to make it six months, between chapters, this time ;-)

Don't forget to vote and I love getting comments.

Oh, and if my German is wrong, blame Google Translate.

C.B. 



Pony Boy Ch. 03



I must have drifted off to sleep because the next thing I remembered was looking up at the clock and seeing it was almost five p.m. Vickie could step in that door in just a matter of minutes. Quickly getting up, I went into the bathroom, peed like a racehorse and then spread some more oil over my body so I could glisten for her when she arrived. I then checked my tail, making sure it was still in position and slipped the bit back into my mouth. Walking over to the table, I stretched my legs some and relaxed my arms along my side, preparing myself for when I climbed back up on the table and got into my show position.

Vickie seemed very pleased with how I behaved that afternoon with her friend. I was polite to the lady, but always deferred to Vickie looking for either her instructions or approval for anything I did. It was a bit touch and go for a while there when her friend had stroked my cock for so long and I was nearing climax when Vickie helped me maintain control with a firm smack of her riding crop. She even seemed to enjoy when her friend rode on my back until she came.

When it got to be about five-thirty, I climbed up onto the table and while I was kneeling, I remained relaxed, ready to move into position the moment I heard her at the door. While she did enjoy knowing I held show position for so long all I could do was tremble when she arrived, I also knew that tonight she might be wanting more, so I had to be physically prepared to respond to her. At about a quarter to six I began concentrating, spreading out my knees a bit and finding a comfortable spot for my hands. Once in position, I turned my mind to earlier in the day, the image of Vickie's fingers sliding over her clit as she watched her friend ride me until she came. Feeling my cock harden, I kept my mind focused on the images so I could be hard when she arrived.

I only had to wait another thirty minutes or so until I heard her slide the key card in the door and open it. Breathing deeply, I could smell her fragrance, only her fragrance, so I knew she was alone. She walked out of the darkness by the door and stepped into the bright light. Pausing, I guess to just look at me, she stood motionless for what seemed like several minutes. Then moving over behind me I suddenly felt a stab of pain sear into my ass as she swatted me with her crop. Hitting me again, this time on the other side of my ass she said, "Oh how I love how those marks look on you."

Walking around in front of me, she began, removing her clothes as she said, "Earlier today, I loved watching Madeline riding you, especially when she came. She really enjoyed you and when she told me how much she enjoyed you, all I could think about the rest of the day was enjoying you myself."

Slipping her panties over her hips and down her legs, she placed them on the couch and then grabbed my reins and led me down off the table. Once I was back down on the floor, she immediately stepped over me and sat down on my back, her naked pussy on my skin. I began crawling, noticing her taking a position on my back similar to what her friend Madeline had done earlier that day, hooking her feet between my thighs as she leaned forward. Bowing my back some as I moved, I felt her begin to grind against me as I started crawling faster. By this time, she was sliding her pussy up and down my back as I moved the best I could between furniture. She moaned and said, "Faster please," so I sped up, trying not to burn my knees on the carpet too badly.

Finally she said, "Stop," and I immediately halted, remaining still as she just moved on me, grinding her pussy as she moaned loudly. She was breathing hard and began bucking wildly on my back saying, "Yeah, yeah, I feel you, yeah," as I bowed my back some making it easier for her. Suddenly her legs squeezed hard around my waist and she came down on top of me, her breasts flattening on my back and her arms wrapping tightly around my chest. She remained on top of me for some time, occasionally grinding her pussy on me as she caught her breath.

After a while she sat up again and said, "That was even better than I expected, I think you deserve a treat."

I remained on my knees wondering what she might have in mind for me. She slowly stood up and walked around in front of me. I looked up at her face and she smiled lovingly. 



Pony Boy Ch. 03



This is the third chapter of 'Pony Boy' and, if you haven't read the rest, then please do so first. Quite a bit of the story refers back to events in the earlier parts and it won't make much sense if you read them out of order.

And, of course, there are the usual disclaimers; anyone involved in sexual acts is over eighteen and we're all fictional. 

**Important**

I'm probably going to upset many of my readers with this chapter. I have been urged to write some sort of 'Pretty Woman' type of love affair between Ben and Andy Mason. That was, indeed, my original intention. However, as the story developed it became more and more clear that Andy Mason has to be a major figure in London's organised crime. This, as far as I am concerned, makes him a bad person and I don't want Ben to end up as his lover.

Driven by this the story will take a rather darker route. Ben's road to happiness will have one or two twists along the way. Will Ben actually find happiness? Well, that would be telling. 

If you are one of the readers who was looking for a romance between Ben and Mr Mason then you may not want to read any further. That's not going to happen. On the other hand, if you want to find out if Ben does find love, and with whom....

Enjoy the story. 

********

Chapter 3 -- And they're off... 

The bed was so comfortable; like sleeping on a cloud. I rolled over, gradually waking up. There was a quick flash of panic as I wondered where the fuck I was, and then another panic of a different sort when I remembered. I opened my eyes and looked across the bed. He wasn't there but I could hear noises coming from the bathroom which suggested he would be back any minute.

I really didn't know what was expected of me. What was the protocol? Was I supposed to slip out unseen, picking up the money from the dressing table on the way out, or was Herr Schlitz expecting to find a hot and horny little slut ready and waiting to do his every bidding? Given that the only item of clothing I possessed was the raincoat Mr. Mason had given me on the way out of the party, I didn't have too many choices.

Herr Schlitz seemed to be taking his time so I got out of bed and looked out of the windows. The view stretched right across Docklands with the Millennium Dome in the distance and really was fantastic. It brought back memories of the previous night and, with this in mind, I leant forward and put my arms against the glass. I could appreciate the way this made my bum stick out and I gave it a little wiggle. 

"Ah, ein nackter Junge am Fenster! Das ist schön zu sehen. Very pretty. Very good to see in the morning," Herr Schlitz said, coming out of the en-suite. "Stillhalten! Stay still, stay where you are." 

I looked round to see him standing there in a white towelling dressing gown.

"Did I not tell you to stay where you are? Kiss the glass." He came up behind me and smacked my backside hard enough to make me squeak with pain and, to cover this I leant forward to do as I was told. Of course, pushing my face to the glass just made my arse stick out more. He moved closer, kicked my legs further apart, and he must have undone his dressing gown as I felt his bare thighs pressing against the back of mine, his prick between my arse cheeks. He took off the belt from his dressing gown, doubled it up, looped it around my neck and fastened it off, not tight enough to stop me breathing but tight enough to let me know it was there.

"This is how you like it, isn't it? You like to be the pony, yes?" He gave a tug on my 'reins'. "You like to be a pony for a rider who is hard, really hard, don't you."

"Yes, Herr Schlitz, yes please."

All the time he was pushing with his hips, rubbing himself against me. I wondered how far he was going to take this, what exactly he wanted, and whether my backside was up to it, when we were disturbed by a knocking at the door. 

"That is good, I am ready for my breakfast. Go and see to the door." Herr Schlitz dropped the 'reins', stood back and let me move away from the window. I knew better than to make any comments about my nakedness but I reached for the dressing gown belt around my neck and started to take it off. I felt his hand on my arm and turned to look at him.

"No, you are good with the rope. Moment." He adjusted the dressing gown belt so that the free end was hanging down in front, not at the back. "You were good, now you are better. Go! Tell the maid to bring the breakfast to the bedroom; I will eat it in my bed."

I went to the door and answered it. It was, indeed, room service with a breakfast trolley. She kept her face pretty impassive when she saw me but I did see a flicker of a smile as she glanced down and checked out my prick which was still standing proud. 

"Herr Schlitz will be having breakfast in bed," I told her. She nodded and wheeled the trolley through to the bedroom area where he was now back under the covers. The maid parked up the trolley next to the bed, fetched out a bed tray from underneath and laid it across his lap. On top of this she then placed the various plates, removing their cloches to reveal a German breakfast of rolls, pumpernickel, ham, cheese and boiled eggs. A coffee pot held the thick dark almost Turkish coffee that the Germans like to drink.

"My apologies, Herr Schlitz, we were unaware that you had a guest with you. Would you like me to fetch another breakfast?"

"No, this is good, Maria. There is plenty enough here for the two of us. Thank you."

"You're very welcome, Herr Schlitz," she said as she turned and left.

"And now, my Flittchen, meine kleine Flittchen, we will have breakfast together. Come here." He reached across the bed and flicked back the covers to indicate that I should get in. As soon as I was in reach he grabbed the dressing gown cord around my neck and pulled, forcing me to scoot over until I was right up next to him. 

"Is meine kleine Flittchen hungry? Shall I butter a roll for you?"

"Yes, please, Herr Schlitz."

"But if I am buttering the rolls what will you be doing? Only those who work are allowed to eat, that is only right, is it not? Be careful not to spill anything."

It took a second or two to work out what he meant about not spilling anything and then the penny dropped; there was only one way I was going to 'earn' breakfast. I reached my arm out, under the covers. His dressing gown was wide open and I quickly found the firm washboard of his abs. Being very careful not to upset the bed tray I reached lower and the tips of my fingers found his prick. Herr Schlitz gave a little sigh.

"Ah, that is good, but not good enough," he laughed. "Come on, little Flittchen, or you shall go hungry."

I stretched a little further and was able to take his prick in my fist.

"Is that how you like it or," I adjusted my grip so I was holding him with my finger tips, "is this better?"

"The first way, I think. Yes, like that, not too fast. We don't want any accidents."

So I lay there and stroked his prick as he had his breakfast. From time to time he would hold out bits for me to eat. Although it was weird it was also rather nice, lying there snuggled together sharing together. Herr Schlitz seemed to be enjoying it; he was certainly hard enough. While we ate he started to chat.

"So, meine kleine Flittchen, you are not like the others. You have no tattoos."

"I don't like tattoos."

"This is good. So many of the boys are too quick to mark themselves. You are very hübsche... pretty without any marks. If you were mine..."

"But I am yours, Herr Schlitz."

"Only for a little time. Then you must go back to Mr. Mason and belong to him again."

"Please, Herr Schlitz, don't let's talk about that. I like being yours, if only for a little while."

"Sweet words, my little Hure! You wish that I should pay you more?"

"It's not like that," I blushed.

"How prettily you lie to me. I might almost believe you. Here, I will give you extra pumpernickel."

"Please, Herr Schlitz... It really is not like that. I'm not a Hure, well, I wasn't until yesterday."

"Oh, and what happened yesterday."

"I owed Mr. Mason a big favour and, in return, he asked me to make you happy. You... you were my first."

"Your first! More sweet lies!" but he looked at me long and hard. "But perhaps they are not lies. Perhaps you tell the truth. Never trust a Hure, but, if you are not a Hure..."

"Oh, but I am now, I'm your Hure."

"Then I shall not trust you," he said laughing. "And now It it getting late. I have business to attend to but, before I go I think that you also have business to attend to." He looked at the bed tray. We had finished breakfast but, even so, I was a bit slow that morning. "Come on, meine kleine Hure, it is time to earn your money."

I slipped out of bed, picked the bed tray up off his lap and took it through to the kitchenette. When I returned he had thrown back the covers and was lying there, legs akimbo, with his prick standing proud. I grabbed a condom from the bedside drawer, ripped open the packet, and slipped it on him. Then I scooted up between his legs and did my best to please him. 

I took my time, partially because I was still under orders to give Herr Schlitz the best time ever and, partially, because I liked the feel of his prick in my mouth. It felt so deliciously naughty to break all those boring middle class rules I had been brought up with. Fuck them and their petite bourgeois conventions. There was something very fine about having man's prick in my mouth, especially a man as powerful as Herr Schlick. It was my tongue, my lips, my mouth that controlled his pleasure.

Mind you, that didn't last. A man like Herr Schlitz needs to be in control. He reached down, took my head in his hands and, in a very real sense, fucked my face. It didn't take much of that before he exploded in my mouth. Again, I wished he hadn't been wearing a condom. I wanted the taste, the sensation of him pumping his spunk into me.

He lay back and relaxed and, as soon as he was flaccid, I slipped the condom off him and took it into the en-suite to flush it away. When I returned he was out of bed and over by the wardrobe getting dressed.

There wasn't much I could do so I went and grabbed an apple out off the discarded breakfast tray and lay on the bed, watching him as I ate it.

He hadn't quite finished getting dressed when there was a knock at the door and, this time, I didn't need to be asked. I threw the apple core away and ran to the door where I found Mr. Mason waiting outside. He looked at me, looked particularly at the dressing gown cord which was still round my neck, and smiled. He was carrying one of those huge carrier bags you get from the West End stores and he handed it to me.

"Herr Schlitz is still getting dressed," I announced. "If you'd care to take a seat I'll..."

"Andy! Good morning. You are well?" Herr Schlitz appeared from the bedroom.

"I'm fine, Hans. Are you ready to leave?"

"In two minutes I will be finished here."

"No problem. When you're ready."

Herr Schlitz disappeared back into the bedroom and Mr. Mason sat on one of the armchairs while he waited. I was evidently superfluous to requirements so I kept myself out of the way. In a lot less than two minutes Herr Schlitz reappeared, came over and gave me a kiss.

"Maybe next time, meine kleine Flittchen," he said, clutching my arse as he did so.

And then he was off. I had been dismissed and he and Mr. Mason left without a backward glance.

I took the bag Mr. Mason had given me and looked inside. I was more than a trifle relieved to find it was full of clothes; hopefully clothes for me. I took the whole lot through to the bedroom area and laid them all out on the bed. They were clothes for me and not just the ones I had worn to the pony meet. In addition there was a brand new pair of chinos, a beautiful shirt, a black leather jacket, black slip on shoes and all the accessories I could want. Everything was a perfect fit. I guessed that he had had access to the measurements Tracy had taken when I had first applied. I didn't recognise any of the labels but they certainly weren't Primark or even Marks and Sparks. But that wasn't all that was in the bag. There was a package at the bottom with my name on it. Inside I found my house keys, a brand new leather wallet with one hundred pounds inside and a letter. Well, more of a note, really, as all it said was 'Harold's Office. 11:00'.

I got dressed and looked at myself in the mirror. Talk about looking a million dollars! The leather jacket, in particular, looked fantastic. I had never been able to afford stuff like this. How generous of Mr. Mason to buy them for me. 

And talking of generous, there on the dressing table was a hotel envelope with 'Meine kleine Flittchen' written on it. As this was Herr Schlitz's pet name for me I opened it up to find two hundred quid. Wrapped around the notes there was a piece of writing paper with the word 'Danke' written on it. I was up three hundred quid plus a cracking new set of clothes and I hadn't even been paid for the pony racing. Not bad for a night's work!

Just short of eleven I climbed the stairs to Mr H's office, knocked on the door and went in.

"Hi Ben, cool threads."

"Thanks, Tracy. Is Mr. H available."

"He and Mr. Mason are waiting for you." She pressed the button on the intercom. "Harold, Ben's here. Yep, I'll show him in."

I went into the office. Mr. H was sat behind his desk, Mr. Mason in an armchair.

"Take a pew, Ben, take a pew."

I sat down in the one remaining chair which had been arranged so that Mr. H, Mr. Mason and I formed a triangle.

"How did you get on with Herr Schlitz," Mr. Mason asked.

"Fine, no problems at all."

"Good, because he seemed very happy with you. And that leads me to my main point. You're on my firm now and it looks like I'm going to have quite a bit of work for you in the future."

"What sort of work?" as if I didn't know.

"I provide a service to those who are bored, or lonely, or simply those who want a bit of variety in their lives. What they're looking for is a bit of company, someone to spend some time with, someone to make them feel special; maybe they just fancy a change. That's where you come in. What I'm always short of is nice, polite young men who look smart and presentable, the sort you can take out to a good restaurant, but are also not shy when it comes to other things. You did an excellent job last night. You made the client feel special and I gather you were suitably rewarded."

"But what about my college work?"

"Oh, I still want you to carry on with that. I don't want you dropping out or anything stupid like that. I'll make sure all your bookings are in the evenings and I certainly won't call you any more than you can handle. Say one or two evenings a week. You won't be the first student who has paid their way through college with a little escort work; I can assure you of that."

There, he'd said it, escort work. Mind you, I'd been a bit of a fan of that Billie Piper thing, 'Secret Diary of a Call Girl', and that didn't make it seem too bad. I thought of the three hundred quid in my pocket. Three hundred for a night's work and I still hadn't been paid for the racing. I would only have to work one night a week and it would sort out my student loan in no time.

"Just one or two evenings a week?" I asked for confirmation.

"Whatever you're happy with."

"And what about the pony racing?" I asked Mr. H.

"Oh, we'll still want you for that. More than ever after last night," he replied.

"And, above all else, as long as you're working for me you know that you'll be safe. There are some pretty tough characters in this game and Archie isn't the only thug who will have taken an interest in our newest pony boy recruit but, now that you're in my employ, they'll leave you well alone. I'll make sure of that."

"Thanks, Mr Mason." That was the reassurance I wanted. The whole Archie thing had scared the shit out of me and, without Mr. Mason's protection, I knew I would be prey to all sorts.

"And how much will I be earning?"

"That depends a lot on the client and what services they want but you can reckon on one hundred pounds an hour, give or take. And then there will be tips on top of that."

"I didn't get one hundred pounds an hour for last night."

"Yeah, but that was a favour for me, wasn't it? Your way of saying 'thank you' for getting Archie off your back. Anyway, you didn't do too badly; you even got a nice new set of clothes out of it."

One hundred pounds an hour, plus tips! I must have been with Herr Schlitz from midnight until nine in the morning. That would have been nine hundred quid!

"I don't think I can say no, can I?"

"Good lad, Ben, good lad. Well, Harold, I think that just wraps it up for me. I'll see you down the club later, OK?" Mr. Mason got up from his chair and headed for the door. "Oh, one last thing," he said turning back towards the room. "I know you keep yourself pretty fit but I'd like to oversee your training. I've booked you in at the Chester Road gym, six o'clock, Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Ask for Albert and, don't worry, it won't cost you a thing."

"Do I have to?"

"Yes, you do. Don't let me down on this." And, with that, he was gone.

"And that just leaves the race money to be sorted," Mr. H said, reaching for his cash box. You did pretty well last night. Now, let's see..."

By the time he had finished I had a little over three hundred from the racing. It was less than last time but, as Mr. H explained, the last time had included the two hundred that Mr. Mason had put up so it was to be expected. Still, I was, all in all, over six hundred quid richer for one night's work. I'd have to flip an awful lot of burgers to earn that sort of money.

And that was it for the next few days. I didn't hear anything from either Mr. Mason or Mr. H over the weekend.

Come Monday morning I struggled out of bed and made my way down to the gym in Chester Road. If I was expecting one of those modern places with rows of treadmills and multi-gyms then I could not have been more wrong. When I entered the first thing I saw was a boxing ring and, even at this time of a Monday morning, there were a couple of lads sparring. I asked for Albert and a burly man in his fifties came over. 

"And you are?"

"I'm Ben, sir. Mr. Mason said I was to come here for training."

"You're Ben, are you? Follow me." He took me through to a room at the back and told me to strip.

"What?"

"The first thing you're going to learn, sunshine, is to do as you're fuckin' told. Mr. Mason wants me to put some meat on your bones and I need to do is see what I'm working with. Kit off, now!"

Albert wasn't as scary as Archie but that was hardly the point. I took off my tracksuit and, after some encouragement from Albert, my shorts and tee shirt as well. The room was quite cold and I stood there shivering before him as he examined me as thoroughly as Mr. H had done before the races, possibly more so.

"First things first. You don't ever come into this gym unshaven." 

I must have looked blank

"You're working for Mr. Mason, right?"

I nodded

"And my job is to make you look good for the clients."

"I guess so."

"You guess so? I know so, sunny Jim and the first thing you're going to do is shave, all over. Arms, legs, chest, armpits, everywhere. The punters aren't paying for some sort of gorilla, they're paying for a pretty boy and that means shaven. Don't need to shave off all your pubes but they should be neatly trimmed. What's more you need a haircut. Something smart. Now, as to your training..."

Albert allowed me to put my shorts back on but not the rest of my gear. He told me that, if I felt cold, then I should work harder and that would warm me up. But that was far from the only incentive. He coming by to watch over me and had me working so hard that keeping warm was the least of my problems. By the time the session was over I was a puddle of exhaustion. Still, Albert seemed happy with me so I had a quick shower and went home in time to get to lectures.




Pony Boy Ch. 03



Shaving was a right pain. I took a long hot bath and used a whole month's worth of blades before I'd finished. It was weird to look at in the mirror and, when I got dressed, my clothes felt funny against my skin. I was also a bit worried about what my mates at college would think so I started wearing long sleeved tops.

Wednesday morning found me back down at the gym and, once more stripped for inspection. Albert gave me a right bollocking as, apparently, I'd missed quite a bit, mostly in and around my arse, not to mention a couple of patches at the back of my legs. Given that I was, as he put it, so bloody useless, he called in one of the other lads to give me a hand. The lad showed no surprise at this so I tried to hide mine. We went into the showers and he re-shaved me before getting some tweezers to pick out the hairs from between my arse cheeks. He suggested a number of creams to use as, apparently, they keep you smoother for longer. "But for Pete's sake keep them clear of your balls and arse. Burns like buggery," was how he put it.

Of course this meant that I was late starting my exercises and Albert insisted that I stay late to make up the time. 

Around seven Mr. Mason appeared and he stayed for quite a while chatting with Albert about how I was getting on. He spent some time having me pose naked and he looked me over hyper critically. I was glad I had had the extra work done with the hair removal as he seemed quite pleased with the result.

"Race meeting tomorrow," he told me. "Make sure you get some new trainers. I want you looking your best."

"I will, Mr. Mason," I assured him.

That afternoon I went into town and ended up spending over a ton on a pair of top of the range Nike trainers. With all the money I was earning I could afford them. While I was there I saw a tracksuit I fancied so I also picked that up as well. I reckoned it would be just the thing to wear to the race meetings. 

Thursday evening I changed into my new tracksuit and went down to the meeting place a few minutes early. I recognised a couple of others waiting at the same spot so I went over and said hi. I still didn't really know them but at least I was beginning to feel more confident around them. Having Mr. Mason's protection helped a lot. Five minutes later and the minibus arrived and we all got on. At the next stop we picked up Jed and, as soon as he saw me, he gave me a certain amount of stick, calling me 'bum boy' and taking the rip out of my new trainers and tracksuit. "You always think you're better than us, that's your problem, bum boy. But in the end you're just another rent boy like the rest of us."

I just ignored him. His words hurt; I really didn't think I was better than them. Well, better educated, from a better home, maybe, but not a better person.

We got to the warehouse and, after the usual hanging around, it was time for the showers. I stripped off my tracksuit, put my house keys in the pocket, and folded it up and put it on the chairs. 

"Check out bum boy," Jed called out. "Smooth as a baby's bottom. Do you reckon you'll get more punters that way?"

"Can't harm, can it?" I called back. I wasn't going to admit that I'd done it to order. "You know what they say, happy punters means bigger tips."

"Still doesn't make that dinky little prick of yours any bigger."

"It's not my prick they're interested in; it's my cute little backside, the one you'll be watching every time I overtake you." I'm not sure what had made me so bold but at least it got me a round of laughter. The minibus driver told us sharply to cut the chat and get on with our showers so the banter came to an end.

When we were lined up for inspection I felt like I stood out even more than I had on the previous occasions. Still, there was no banter in the line and Mr. H seemed more than happy with my turnout. As with the previous week I was assigned sulky number five. I hoped I would get Pete as my jockey again and when we went out to the sulkies, there he was, waiting for me.

"You're looking a bit more cheerful today," he commented as I approached.

"Feeling like a winner!" I replied.

"Well, let's get you looking like one. Stand between the shafts with your legs apart and your arms out."

I did as I was told but, instead of reaching for the harness and bridle, Pete pulled out a bottle from his jacket pocket.

"What's that?"

"Posing oil. It won't make you faster but it will make you look better. Mr. Mason's orders. Now stand still."

Starting with my shoulders, Pete smoothed the oil over my body. Once he had done my arms he had me clasp my hands behind the back of my head so as to give easy access to my chest. He was rubbing the oil well in and, even before he got to my groin, I was starting to react. My whole definition of what was and wasn't sexy had been turned on its head in the previous couple of weeks but standing naked and immobile in this open and vulnerable pose while being oiled was something else. By the time he got to my buttocks I was as hard as they come. 

"Ooh, someone's happy tonight. You're loving this oil, aren't you?" Pete joked. "How about this?" He smoothed the oil back and forth along my prick.

"God, Pete, that's...."

"Careful now, we don't want you popping your cork too early. That would never do." He carried on, now working on my thighs. It wasn't much better; I still felt as horny as hell and my prick felt like it was going to explode at any minute. 

When he had finished with the oil he put the stopper back in the bottle and wiped his hands. Now it was time for the harness and we were onto more familiar territory. As Pete fitted the various straps around me I looked at my body, oiled and hairless. I rather liked the effect. By the time he had me fully fitted up, with the tail in place and everything, I felt like I must look the prettiest pony in the show. I wished that there was a mirror I could see myself in. I could feel the tail cascading down the back of my thighs. I gave my bum a wiggle and felt it move. I wondered what it must look like. I had seen the other ponies but never myself. Still, I was there to race, not just look pretty. I had a growing reputation to keep up with.

When the punters arrived I got lots of comments about being shaven and oiled. There had always been a few who liked to use 'examining' the ponies as an excuse for a good old grope but this time there was more than ever. It's an odd feeling, standing there constrained, blindfolded, gagged and all but naked while complete strangers feel you up but I would find myself drifting away, stood there, enjoying it all. My world seemed centred on the tight straps that bound my prick. God it felt good!

Mr. H announced that it was to be another handicap event. I could feel the sulky jerk as they attached the weights; as the favourite, I would be carrying the greatest handicap. When the brakes were released and I was taken towards the race track I found the sulky harder to pull, harder to control. Even so, I didn't do too badly in the first heat. I got away in front and was able to hold off the challenge without too many problems. However, all that extra weight knocked some of the stuffing out of me so, when it came to the second heat, I failed to get in front and it was only by giving it everything I had that I was able to overtake on the very last lap. Even then I couldn't get cleanly past and the final dash for the finish line was neck and neck. The punters loved it, especially when I won.

There was only a one race gap before I was led out again for the third heat. As we went past the bookie's stalls I noticed that the odds on me were lengthening. The punters weren't blind to the way I was struggling against all the weight I was carrying. I wasn't quite the certainty I had been before.

Right from the start of the third heat I found it hard, right from the start I fell behind and, right from the start, I failed to find the strength or the stamina to make the push I needed. On the back straight of the seventh lap Pete gave me the signal and I really tried my very best but the other jockey was ready for it and his pony put on a spurt at the same time and, even with me giving it my all, my legs simply failed to respond. For the whole of the eighth lap Pete was urging me on. If he had had a whip I'm sure he would have used it. Not that it would have made any difference. The other pony was, if anything, pulling further away and we came in a couple of lengths short.

I all but collapsed. Not only had I raced my heart out, I didn't have the adrenalin of winning to prop me up afterwards. All I wanted to do was go somewhere, lie down and get my breath back but, attached to the sulky, this was not an option. I even got some boos from the stands which was pretty demeaning. Someone took hold of my bridle and, completely exhausted, I was led from the ring.

Pete was wiping me down in the centre circle when Mr. H came over.

"I think you may have overdone the handicapping, Mr. H" Pete said to him.

"Always good for the bookies when the favourite fails to win," Mr. H replied with a chuckle. "How is he?"

"A bit winded but he'll be fine in a minute or two. If you're putting him in the post meet races you might want to take some of the weight off."

"What, and have him winning all the time? Where's the fun in that?"

"Hello, Mr. H, this College Boy, he's a bit special, even if he did make a muck of the last race." I turned to look but, with the blinkers on, this newcomer was out of view."

"Hello, Tel. Yeah, he is a bit special."

"So how about a blow job? How about I take him to the stalls? How much are you charging?"

"Sorry, Tel, he's party only, Mr. Masons orders."

"Party only? Is he to good for us plebs, then? You know I can't afford the entrance fee for the party, not on what I earn."

"Sorry, Tel, it's really not my decision and, if you've got any problems then you'd better take them up with Mr. Mason. Here, why don't you take a look at some of the others? Black Coffee, for example..." and, together, Mr. H and Tel wandered off.

Tel wasn't the only punter that wanted my 'services' and, time and time again, either Mr. H or Pete had to explain that I was 'party only'. I put two and two together. This was what Mr. H had told me about right at the beginning, this was my USP. By limiting my availability he was raising my desirability and this helped persuade the punters to shell out the entrance fee for the party. I had no idea what these 'stalls' were but, judging by the length of time the other ponies were away, they couldn't be far. The idea of being taken round the back of the warehouse to give blow jobs to those who could afford them wasn't particularly appealing. 

Of course, being unavailable for blow jobs meant that I was available for all the post meet races. In particular, Jed had won the main race and, with me losing in the heats, we had never raced each other. Quite a few of the punters commented that this was the fixture they had come to see.

"Come on, Mr. H," a particularly persistent punter urged. "College Boy and Dark Arrow; you know that will get the money in. But take off all that weight. Head to head, mano e mano, that's what we want. I liked what you did that time when the loser had to give the winner a blow job. Makes it personal, like."

This got an enthusiastic response and Mr. H was never shy to give the punters what they wanted so, in short order, Jed and I were lined up, weight free, for a four lap race. I was a little concerned about the distance. Jed, with his greater strength, tended to get away first and was quicker over the short distances whereas I had more stamina and came back at him later on. At least the weights were off. 

When Mr. H announced the race there was quite a cheer from the stands followed by a bit of a rush to the bookies stalls. Mr. H played into this and, as part of the build up, Jed and I were paraded back and forth in front of the stands. Each time we went past each other he would look me in the eye and glare. Mind you, I was giving as good as I got. I began to understand why they have the weigh-in before a big boxing match the way they do.

As the queues at the bookies stalls died down we were led out onto the course, lined up and put under starters orders. The starter raised his flag. I watched him intently, checking for the slightest sign that...

And we were off. I tried, I really tried, but, like it or not, Jed was faster away and out in front before the first bend. I couldn't play the waiting game, I had to stay with him, I had to keep right on his tail. I couldn't afford to let him open up any sort of a gap. 

On each of the straights Pete would give me the signal and I'd try to go past. Each time I couldn't make it before the corner and he'd have to hold me off. On a positive note, each time I was getting closer. But this was only four laps, I was running out of time, I was running out of track. We came to the last straight and I was still behind him There, at the end, was the winning line. It was now or never. I searched for every ounce of determination I could find. I had no more strength left, this was pure adrenalin. By half way down the straight I had pulled level with the other jockey; there were no more corners, position didn't matter, it was all about who was in front. I was nearly there, nearly up to him. Pete was screaming, Jed's jockey was screaming, the crowd was screaming but my entire focus was the finish line getting closer by the second.

With a roar that filled the warehouse we passed through the finish line. All I had to do now was stop, stop before the corner that was... I jinked to the left and collided with Jed and the whole kit and caboodle went down in a heap.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have a photo finish. We're reviewing the video and we'll have a result for you as soon as we can."

Helped by Pete and Jed's jockey we got to our feet and were led back to the centre circle. We were arranged facing each other in front of the judges table while they reviewed video of the finish, running it back and forth, back and forth. Jed looked nervous but I guess I did as well.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner and the winner is... by a short nose... College Boy!"

Talk about the place went wild. However, through all the cheering, through all the hullabaloo, there was Jed staring at me and, if looks could kill, I'd have been so, so dead.

"Blow Job! Blow job! Blow job!" someone in the crowd chanted and, in moments, the rest of them took it up. For some this was the high point of the night. With everyone watching, cheering, shouting, my prick was unfastened from its straps, Jed's bit was removed from his mouth, I was fitted with a condom, and Jed was forced to his knees. Much as I still hated him I felt for the guy. His humiliation was complete.

It was actually quite difficult to come. Although Jed was pretty skilled at giving blow jobs I could feel his humiliation and crowing over him felt wrong. On the other hand the crowd wanted a show and I had to pretend to be cock of the walk. In the end this helped; it wasn't me who came, it was the character I was playing. As I thrust my hips towards Jed, so they picked up the rhythm and clapped along. It felt as unreal as if it were a Saturday Night TV show; 'Strictly Blow-jobs' or something. In the end friction did its thing and, as I climaxed, I threw my head back and cried out as the pent up frustration of having been turned on all evening burst from me and I got the feeling, if not the reality, of pumping my juice down Jed's throat.

Mr. H was keen to restart the racing. After all, no races means no betting means no income. Jed and I were led away. I had quite a crowd around me but, even so, I was drained, physically and emotionally. Pete did his best to keep most of them at bay but I was still being harassed. Mind you, there were plenty of tips being stuck into my harness by grateful winners.

"Come along, ladies and gentleman, let's give the lad some air," Mr. Mason came over and, as so often at the moment, as soon as he arrived, my life became easier. 

There was still plenty of interest and still quite a crowd around me but they gave me a bit more room and Pete was able to start massaging some life back into my legs.

"I wouldn't race him again tonight," Pete commented. "Not if you want anything out of him at the party."

"Fair enough. He didn't hurt himself in that fall, did he?"

"Nah, he's fine. Fit as a fiddle."

"Do his blinkers back up, will you. It will stop him getting distracted."

"OK, Mr. Mason, you're the boss."

Pete adjusted my blinkers and, once again, I was blindfolded. I'm not sure what Mr. Mason meant about getting distracted but, increasingly, I was finding that being blindfolded, gagged and harnessed to the sulky put me in a strange place. I would zone out, just stand there, becoming completely passive. The hands that groped me, and there was always one or two who wanted to, were disembodied, ethereal. My erection, which had dissipated after the blow job, was back in force. 

And all of a sudden it was over. Pete chased the last few punters away and undid enough of the harness to let me do the rest. Along with the other ponies I wandered off towards the shower area unbuckling things as I went.

Jed was understandably furious. This was the second time he had been publicly humiliated in this way and, naturally, he blamed me. However, with me under Mr. Mason's protection, there was very little he could do about it. He didn't say or do anything as we all showered together but he kept giving me looks; looks that would have killed if only they could. I made sure we were not in the same minibus as we made our way to the party.

Once more I was picked out from the rest as soon as we arrived. I was directed to the same alcove as last time where, as before, Mr. Mason was sat chatting with friends. I went towards him, expecting to be invited to sit on his lap but, before got there he looked up and saw me.

"Ah, Ben, you're here at last. Barry Jarman has been asking after you. Go and keep him happy, will you?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Mason, I don't know who Mr. Jarman is. How do I find him?"

Mr. Mason raised an arm over his head and clicked his fingers. Immediately one of the waitresses came over.

"More champagne, Mr. Mason?" she said holding out her tray.

"No thanks, Maureen. Can you take this young man over to Mr. Jarman."

"Of course, Mr. Mason, I'd be delighted. Follow me."

She led me through the party to one of the larger rooms where there was half a dozen men sat talking to each other. It was easy to tell who was the boss; he was the one holding court, the one the others were deferring to, and I didn't really need the waitress to tell me that this was Mr. Jarman. I went over and stood next to him.

"Ah, College Boy, so good of you to join us. I lost quite a bit of money when you fucked up in the third heat." He reached out and, inevitably, his hand went up the leg of my shorts and he grabbed me around the balls, pulling me towards him.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Jarman, I tried my best."

"I'm sure you did. And don't worry, I won all the money back again when you beat Dark Arrow so I'm all square on the night. Now, be a good lad and stand up on the table, give us a twirl, let's have a look at you."

I wondered about clearing the table first but decided against it. Stepping as daintily as I could between the condoms, coke and used glasses, I got up on the table. Mr. Jarman had asked for a 'twirl' so I gave him one and got a chorus of wolf whistles in response. I played up to this, playing the coquette and they lapped it up. That suited me down to the ground. Any nerves, any reservations I might have about what I was doing, were easier to deal with if I hid them behind a role. This wasn't me, it was just a part I was playing and the role of sex mad floozy suited both me and the punters. 




Pony Boy Ch. 03



"'Ere, he's the one that did that dance. You remember, striptease sort of thing, last week it was," one of Mr. Jarman's lads called out.

"Yeah, that was good, that was. Let's have him do it again," another joined in.

"Yeah, gets my vote," from yet another.

"Looks like my lads enjoyed that dance you did," Mr. Jarman said to me.

"I'd be delighted to perform for you gentlemen. I'm always keen to oblige in any way I can. Where would you like me? Right here?"

"On my lap!" 

"On his face, more like."

There were quite a few other suggestions from the lads but then one called out "How about he does it with one of the other ponies? Buy one, get one free sort of thing."

"What, get them to bum each other?"

"Do you ever think of anything except bumming? You're obsessed, you are."

"At least I'm the one doing the bumming, not the one getting bummed." This caused quite a bit of laughter.

"Lads, lads," Mr. Jarman said with mock severity. "No one is bumming anyone, well, not yet anyway. As to whether there will be any bumming later, I really couldn't say." That got him a round of laughter. "But I agree with you all, it would be nice if we had a bit of a show."

"Let's have that Black Coffee. Get a bit of black on white action?" one of the lads suggestion.

"Yeah, not bad, but I've got a better idea," Mr. Jarman said looking straight at me. He called over a waitress, whispered in her ear and she bustled off. 

"What's the plan, Mr. Jarman," one of the lads asked.

"Wait and see. You'll love it."

And then one of the other guests approached and, in his wake there was Jed. He couldn't miss that it was me still stood on the coffee table in the centre of the group.

"Hello, Mr. Jarman, what's all this about you wanting to borrow Dark Arrow?" Jed's companion asked.

"Keep your hair on, Jim It's only for a little while. We're having College Boy put on a little show for us and, when one of the lads thought it would be nice if he had someone to dance with, well, Dark Arrow just seemed like the obvious choice seeing as how they're such good friends and all."

"Yeah, classic!" Jim laughed. Jed, on the other hand, looked as sick as a parrot. He was certainly not in the best mood to act as dance partner and this seemed to have disaster written all over it. Jed had suffered enough humiliation brought on by me or my actions; any more would be kicking a man when he's down. And then I had a brainwave.

"Excuse me, Mr. Jarman," I said as respectfully as I could. "Would you possibly be so kind as to let Dark Arrow and myself have a couple of moments to work out our act. I'm sure it would improve it if we did so."

"Gor, ain't you the posh one! Would I possibly be so kind? Well possibly I would be so. Go on then, but be quick about it."

I stepped down from the table, motioned with my head to Jed that he should follow me and headed for the corner of the room. Jim gave Jed a smack on his bottom and he followed me over.

"I suppose you think you're going to get me sucking on your prick again," he said with a snarl. "Well, I'm fuckin not going to, not no how."

"Agreed. How about I suck yours instead."

"No way, no fucking way at... Hang on! You're offering to suck my prick? What are you after?" Jed was all suspicion.

"I'm after putting on the best show we can. Happy punters mean bigger tips, right? You play the big strong one, I play the little girl and we can make this work, see what I mean? Of course, we could just go out there and you could beat me up. I'm sure that would go down well with Mr. Jarman."

"That's all very well for you but I... I can't fuckin' dance."

"You don't have to. Just look mean. You're good at that."

"Come on, you two, you've had long enough."

"Jed, come on, are you up for this or not?"

"If you're shitting me...."

"I'm not, really, I'm not. Now come on."

I took him back to the waiting circle and, this time, completely cleared the coffee table. As I put the bowl of condoms down I slipped one into the palm of my hand and held it between my fingers where it wouldn't be obvious. Jed was standing around like a pillock. At least I wasn't expecting him to do any actual dancing. I hoped he could look suitably mean and not just gormless.

Once I had the table cleared I started to pick up the beat of the background music. I shimmied past Mr. Jarman. He had a folded handkerchief in his top pocket. Perfect! I gave him a wink, blew him a kiss and pulled it out. Now, doing my very best Isadora Duncan, I used his handkerchief as my scarf as I shimmied up to Jed and played the vamp. He stood there stern and strong while I draped myself over him, flirting outrageously. I really let myself go. This wasn't Jed I was flirting with but the big strong man of my dreams and I wasn't Ben but some little sex kitten playing for her master.

I guided Jed up, onto the coffee table and made quite a bit of having put him on a pedestal. I even kissed his feet, making sure I gave my bum plenty of wiggle at the same time. Then, praying that the table would take our combined weight, I got up behind him, wrapped my arms around him, and, while my lips played across the back of his shoulders, my hands slipped beneath the waistband of his shorts.

The thin silky material of his shorts did precious little to hide what my hands were doing but, what little they did, certainly helped. As I played with his prick the suggestiveness of the moving bulge was, I hope, far more erotic than had I done it in the open. It certainly got the guys cheering along. Meanwhile, as I swayed and shimmied, I was effectively rubbing my prick against his arse, a fact not lost on anyone. 

But I couldn't keep him covered forever. The guys were getting very vocal about that. Teasingly, I eased his shorts down, bit by bit until I had revealed his prick and my hand wrapped around it. Once the reveal was over, I let him go, stepped off the table, pushed his shorts all the way down and took them off him. I gave them a little sniff which got the laugh I was after. Then I turned back to Jed and worshipped him as if he were Michaelangelo's David. By now he had got the message and, looking at me like I was dirt, he put out his foot for me to fawn over.

It wasn't long before I was working higher. I took it slowly, moving steadily northwards until I ended up spending quite a bit of time kissing his arse. I even made out that I was licking it, although I was careful not to actually do so. It wasn't very dignified but I wasn't after dignified, I was after giving the show they wanted.

Then I moved round to the front of him. At least he was getting off on it all. His prick was good and hard. I made a big show of kissing his balls and, undercover of doing so, I unwrapped the condom. I was a little clumsy fitting it over his prick but it wasn't too bad and now I could really set to work. At first I treated it like a lollipop, long slow licks of the entire length but this wasn't what Jed wanted, nor, more importantly, was it what the crowd wanted. I opened my mouth and took him inside.

"Go on, fuck his face, you know you want to!" on of the onlookers called out and Jed was keen to oblige. At least he had the sense to use the beat of the music as the source of the rhythm but the impetus was now coming from him, not from me. He reached down and put his hands on his hips, standing there with all the arrogance I expected from him. 'Go on, Jed,' I thought to myself. 'You know you want to.'

And he did. He placed a hand either side of my head and started fucking my face for real. The crowd, and I was sure there were more than when we had started, were clapping along. Jed was being pretty rough but I knew this was what they wanted and I also knew it wouldn't last for long. I could feel the tension rising within him, I could feel the pent up anger behind each thrust. He wanted so much to pay me back, to make me suffer the way he had.

"Fuck! You! Bitch!" he snarled out loud. "Fuck! You! 'Till! You! Scream!"

And that was it, that was enough, he buried himself as far as he could inside me and, if it hadn't have been for the condom, my mouth would have been flooded. As the crowd cheered him on, he came and came and came, shooting his load just where he wanted to.

I gave him a moment or two before standing up, holding out my hand and helping him down off the table. I put my arms around him and kissed him, full on the mouth, tongue and all. He was a little surprised at that but played along perfectly. Then we broke, turned to the crowd and bowed.

There was a whole bundle of applause and congratulations and back slapping but, after a while, with the show obviously over, Jim took Jed away, the crowd returned to wherever they had come from and I was left to entertain Mr. Jarman and his lads. 

It was completely different from looking after Herr Schlitz. He had been a foreign visitor and I was his and his alone. Mr. Jarman, on the other hand, was simply the boss of this particular gang and, although, when push came to shove, I was his 'property' for the evening I was expected to entertain the whole crowd. I turned the vamp up to eleven, camped it up as hard as I could, and flirted with the lot of them. And they loved it!

"Why are you still wearing your shorts," one of the lads called out as I was passing round the coke mirror.

"Ooh, a girl like me doesn't drop her shorts for just anyone," I simpered. "It has to be a big strong man to turn me on. Are you a big strong man?" I passed the mirror to the next taker, dropped on my knees in front of the lad and kissed the bulge in his pants. "Can I look and me see how big and strong you are? Can I have a little playtime?" I smiled as sweetly as I could. I saw his eyes flicker in Mr. Jarman's direction. He wasn't going to go any further without permission.

He must have got it because, with shifting any more than he needed to, he opened his fly and pulled out his prick.

"Mmmm, that is nice and strong. I bet you can satisfy all the girls with that monster." I wrapped my hand around him and stroked him up and down. "I like to play with a big hard prick like this one. Have all you boys got big strong pricks?"

"All except for Jamie." This was, apparently, the height of wit as it had them falling about with laughter.

"Which one is Jamie?" I asked, looking about. I really didn't have to ask. Jamie was, by far and away, the youngest of the gang; not much older than me and what gave him away was his blushes and the way he was squirming with embarrassment. I got up off the floor and went over and sat on his lap.

"Oh, Jamie, sweetie, are they being cruel to you? I'll tell you what, I'll show you mine if you'll show me yours. Can't say fairer than that." I made a big show of pulling open the top of my shorts in such a way that only he could see. Then I squirmed in his lap. "Oooh, something's stiring in the undergrowth. It can't be that small. Can I have a look see, pretty please, I'll give you a kiss, on the lips."

"Why don't you give him a blow job?" one of the lads called out.

"Ooh, can I? Can I, please?" I gave him a peck on the cheek. "I'll be ever so good and, if you're really lucky, I'll be ever so bad."

"Go on, Jamie, have this one on me." Mr. Jarman called out.

I slipped off his knees and grabbed a condom from the bowl before kneeling down in front of him. I undid his fly and hauled out his prick. As far as I was concerned it was pretty much the same size as the other guys. He was already pretty hard but I gave him a few strokes to get him stiff enough for the condom and to completely extract him from his boxers. As soon as he was ready I slipped on the condom and put him in my mouth.

He may have had no problems with size but he certainly had no staying power because it wasn't long before his cork popped and, with a huge groan of satisfaction, he relaxed back, panting. 

"There, that's better," I said, getting to my feet. "Do you know, I think a big strong boy like you might just be able to get me out of these shorts."

To the amusement of all concerned I wiggled my bum in his face and he reached out and pulled at the waistband of my shorts. He got them to about mid thigh but couldn't reach any further so I pushed them the rest of the way down and made a show of giving them to him.

And that pretty much set the tone for the rest of the evening. I was still kept busy chopping out the lines and keeping the champagne flowing but, in between, I was giving each and every one of them blow jobs. It was hard work, as much to keep up the act as to keep gobbling down the pricks but I was queen of the evening; the lads couldn't get enough of me. Curiously, the one guy I didn't service was Mr. Jarman. He just seemed to be ringmaster, egging us all on.

It was all but dawn when the party started to disperse. There was a certain amount of zipping of flies and the like as Mr. Jarman's group sorted themselves out, ready to leave.

"You go on, lads, I'll be with you in a minute or two," he told them and, laughing together, they left leaving just me and Mr. Jarman.

"Not bad, not bad at all," he told me. "Now, over the arm of the sofa."

"I'm sorry..."

He didn't tell me again. He just grabbed my arm, twisted it behind my back and marched me to the end of the sofa where he bent me over so that my bum was uppermost. I could easily guess what was coming so I spread my legs and waited while he got his prick out and fitted a condom. I was tight, very tight, and he had to force himself in but, even so, there was no passion as with Herr Schlitz. For him this was simply sating a need. For maybe five minutes he just forced himself inside me. I was whimpering with pain but I bit the cloth of the sofa to hide it. Then, at last, he came and, for a moment, he collapsed forward, resting his weight on top of me.

"Not bad at all," he said again as he withdrew. "Money's on the table."

And by the time I had got up off the sofa he had gone. 



Pony Boy Ch. 04



While Vickie stood in front of me after riding me until she came, she slowly widened her stance, sliding closer to me until I could nuzzle my face between her legs. Her pubic hair was damp and I could smell her fragrance with each breath. Leaning closer, I worked my tongue around the bit in my mouth and ran it over her lips. It was difficult with the bridle and bit, but I was able to slip my tongue into her pussy and taste her. I then slipped my tongue up between her lips and found her clit. Circling the nub for a while, I then closed my lips on it, pinching it between them.

She began moving her hips back and forth, leaning into my face and the pulling back a way. We continued with my face nuzzled between her legs for some time, until, she stepped back and then moved over to the table, the same table I had kneeled at for her that evening. Climbing up on the table, she positioned herself on her hands and knees, then wiggled her ass from side to side. As I moved closer to her she said, "In the bathroom, I have another tail in there. Go put some lube on it and bring it here." 

By the time I had returned, I knew exactly what she wanted and walked right up behind her and gently worked the butt plug holding the tail into her tiny opening. It took a moment, but she slowly opened up to me and I eased the plug into her ass and carefully straightened out her tail. I kneeled down and once again nuzzled my face up between her legs, letting my nose and mouth slid along her pussy lips.

"Take off your harness," she said breathlessly, "I want you wild and free."

Carefully removing the harness and bit, I massaged my jaw as I tossed it aside. Now when I nuzzled up to her pussy I could easily run my tongue up between her lips and then plunge it deep into her wet opening. My cock was throbbing, wanting to get inside her, but I remained in control, moving my attention to her clit, flicking my tongue over the sensitive nub. She bucked her ass up and down, pushing her pussy against me, while her tail fell down over my head, tickling my cheeks.

Pushing two fingers into her, I worked them in and out, feeling her get wetter and wetter. I knew she was ready for my cock, but again, I kept myself in control, concentrating on pleasing her. In a few moments she moaned loudly and bucked her ass, pushing her pussy against my face and she came, her cunt pulsing around my fingers. She remained still as I eased my fingers out of her and then she whispered, "Now take me like a stallion."

I stood up and grabbed her hips with one hand while I guided my cock toward her, swinging it back and forth to move her tail out of the way until I found the wet opening. I began easing it in, but feeling how wet it was, I quickly shoved myself to the hilt. Grabbing both her hips with my hands, I withdrew and then plunged my cock into her again, hard. Her ass jiggled at the impact and my balls slapped up against her pussy lips.

While I continued plunging in and out of her, she wiggled her ass more and then began moving back on her haunches to meet each of my thrusts. Out bodies slapped together again and again. I could feel her warm, wet pussy sliding over every inch of my cock, taking me as deep as I could give it. We moved as stallion and mare, me reared up on my hind legs as she held her position firm against the onslaught of my cock.

The sensations were beginning to take me, I felt a pressure building in my balls, but I held off, wishing I still had the bit in my mouth. I could have used it to pinch my lips and stave off the orgasm that was building. My hands began to tremble as I counting crashing into her, getting closer and closer.

Then I heard it, she moaned, "Come inside me, please come inside me."

Freed now to fully enjoy her body, I let go, shoving my cock deep again and again, feeling an electric pleasure gallop up the length of my shaft and fill my balls. I came then, spurting my cum deep into her wet pussy in hot, liquid splash after splash. Slowing my thrusts, I shoved deep into her one more time and then clamped my hands on her hips, holding myself pressed tight against her ass as her tail dangled between us, tickling my stomach and balls.

Slowly, in spite of my pushing against her, my cock shrank and slipped out of her. Only then did we both remove our tails, walk to the bathroom and slip into the shower together, where I washed her hair and body and then she did the same for me, telling me I was the best in her stable. After I dried her and then dried myself, we both headed to bed, where she climbed in between the sheets tossing me a pillow. Fluffing the pillow, I curled up on the floor beside the bed and soon we both fell asleep.



Pony Boy Ch. 04



This is the fourth chapter of 'Pony Boy' and, if you haven't read the rest, then please do so first. Quite a bit of the story refers back to events in the earlier parts and it won't make much sense if you read them out of order.

And, of course, there are the usual disclaimers; anyone involved in sexual acts is over eighteen and we're all fictional. 

There's no pony play in this chapter but, if that's what you're after, then keep reading because there will be more in later chapters

Enjoy

**********

Still reeling from Mr. Jarman's sudden brutality I staggered to the sofa, sat down and tried to get my breath back. In a daze I picked up the money he had thrown on the table and counted it. Five twenties. One hundred quid. Was that the price for letting him violate me like that? I'd just received a stark lesson that, Mr. Mason's protection or not, these were violent vicious men I was dealing with. This walk on the wild side was not without its dangers. Mind you, that was what had lured me in to this in the first place. Up until this point my life had been safe, wrapped in cotton wool, and, ultimately, boring, boring to the point of stultifying. Whilst my mother would have been horrified to know what her little boy was doing and, to put it bluntly, I was hurting and more than a little scared, I couldn't deny the intensity of the experience. 

"Are you all right, love?"

I looked up and there was one of the waitresses, looking down on me with concern written all over her face.

"Yeah... yeah, I'm fine."

"If you say so, honey." She gave me a look of total disbelief. "The rest of the lads are in the kitchen getting dressed; why don't you join them?"

"Thanks, I think I will."

She gave me another long, long look and then turned back to stacking a tray with empty glasses. 

As I waddled, rather gingerly, towards the kitchen I looked about me. The party was all but over. Most of the guests had gone. Here and there I would see the odd few sitting, chatting, but the champagne had been drunk, the coke had been snorted, and all that was left was the clearing up.

When I got to the kitchen I found six of the other ponies and, as the waitress had said, they were all dressed and ready to go. 

"Hello, Ben's been well and truly rogered!" one of the lads called out. I just smiled, nodded, and went to look for my clothes. It didn't take long to put on my boxers, track suit and trainers. I slipped the hundred quid into my pocket and I was just checking that I did indeed have my house keys when Carl, whose pony name was Black Coffee, came over.

"Coming out for a fag? We're not allowed to smoke in the kitchen," he asked. I don't smoke but I followed him out anyway and stood with the mixture of waitresses and ponies as they puffed away on their cigarettes. Not surprisingly, the chat was all about the punters, their kinks and peccadillos. It would seem that most of the attendees at the party were regulars and, while both attendees and ponies had their favourites, it was pretty much pot luck which punter you ended up with. Of course, those punters who had made arrangements with Mr. Mason got to pick and choose. Otherwise it was first come first served. 

It was also considered best to be one of the ponies that was taken on, after the party, the way I had been by Herr Schlitz. "That's when the real kinks come out," Carl explained. "And one thing's for sure, the kinkier the sex, the better the payment."

"What sort of kinks?" I asked but, right then, the back door opened and Mr. H popped his head out.

"Time to go lads. Come along now or you'll be walking home."

We trooped inside and, as we lined up for the minibus, Mr. H paid us off. I had picked up a little over three hundred for the races and two fifty from Mr. Jarman and his lads. My arse might be sore but my wallet was fat, even after Mr H had taken his twenty five percent.

When I finally got home it wasn't worth going to bed as I was due down at the gym for my Friday morning session. I was completely exhausted and wished I could go straight to bed, but Mr. H had told me that Mr. Mason would see me down there so it was obviously expected. I grabbed a quick cup of coffee and a shower before getting in my car and driving down to the East End. Albert took one look at me and grinned.

"Tough night, last night? Come on son, let's work on some upper body strength. Strip off down to your shorts and get up on the multi-gym."

I did as I was told and Albert adjusted the weights and left me to it. Whether by accident or design the multi-gym I was working on was facing a mirror. This all but forced me to take a long hard look at myself.

Part of me knew I ought to be horrified at what I had got myself into. The very fact that I had to keep this a secret from my mates, let alone my parents, spoke volumes. What's more, part of me knew that I was being abused. I could still feel where Mr Jarman had been and the callous, almost off hand way he had tipped me over the arm of the sofa and fucked me up the arse was testament to how little he thought of me. But it wasn't just physical abuse. There were the roles I had to play. The more I camped it up the more they punters loved it. All night I had been playing the trollop, the simpering tart. They wanted a pony boy with the morals of an alley cat and that is what they got.

And that's where it all got complicated. I was playing a role, I was surely playing a role, but it was a role that I was increasingly comfortable with. The 'real' Ben, the Ben my friends and family knew, was quiet, withdrawn, a 'good' boy. Under the guise of playing the tart I could find another Ben, one that loved the spotlight, one that loved the attention, one that loved breaking all the rules. There was a buzz, an excitement, an exhilaration that thrilled me to the core. And it wasn't just being the centre of attention. I loved the feel of another man's prick, be it in my hand, in my mouth or in my arse; I loved knowing that it was me that was making them hard, it was me that was turning them on, it was me that was making them come. Mr Jarman's lads had been fighting for my favours and everyone wants to be wanted.

And, of course, the ever growing stack of cash behind the loose skirting board was yet another reason.

"Hello, Ben, how are you getting on?" I looked up from my ruminations to see Mr. Mason standing watching me.

"I'm fine, Mr. Mason. A little bit exhausted after last night."

"So you should be, from what I hear. Nice little dance routine you and Jed worked out. I've had quite a few asking about that. Now, I've got a job for you. Saturday, seven thirty, I'll send a car around to pick you up. Best bib and tucker, understood?"

"Yes, Mr. Mason, I'll be ready and waiting."

"See that you are," and, with that, he was off.

I actually managed to get to a few lectures that morning although I was so tired that I could barely concentrate. Come lunchtime I was piling into the canteen along with all the other students.

"Ben! Ben! Over here!"

I looked over and saw Andy calling me over to where he and the rest of the crowd were sitting together. I picked up my tray, went over and sat down with them.

"What are you doing Saturday?" Jason asked. "We're all up for trying that new club up town. It's supposed to be pretty good and Ryan has got a job working the door so we won't have any problems getting in."

"Err.... Saturday... sorry, no can do. I'm busy."

"Busy? You're hardly ever around nowadays. Have you got some bird you're not telling us about?"

"No, it's nothing like that. I've... I've got a job." I'd been ready for this question and slipped naturally into my cover story.

"A job? What sort of job?"

"It's a call centre. I'm filling in when people go sick or something so I have to work when they say. It's not much but I'll need the cash if I'm to go to Malaysia."

"Call centre, what sort of job is that?"

"One which will help pay for my holiday. I don't want to be the only one not going."

And with that the subject was closed. I did notice Jenny from the General Studies course give me a strange look but the others swallowed my well prepared story hook, line and sinker.

Come Saturday I spent quite a bit of time getting myself ready. I had spent a small fortune on hair removal products so, I locked myself in the bathroom, got them all out and set to work. Compared to shaving it was a peace of piss even if it did smell evil and I needed to take two showers before I had completely washed it all away. I even trimmed my pubes so that they were neat and tidy. The end result was quite impressive. I was as smooth as the proverbial baby's bottom and, when I checked myself out in the full length mirror, it meant that, along with all the gym work, I was looking pretty good. Then it was out with my new clothes, the ones Mr. Mason had bought for me. I even took the time to run an iron over the trousers, sharpening up the creases. 

At seven thirty I heard a car horn sound outside and I looked out of the window to see a mini-cab waiting, presumably for me. I went out and, sure enough, as soon as he saw me, the driver leaned across and opened the passenger door. I jumped in and we were off. The driver wasn't the chatty sort so we sat in silence as he whisked me through to the West End where he dropped me off in front of a smart hotel. 

"Go in, sit at the bar and order a drink," the minicab driver ordered. "Don't blow it."

I got out and went into the hotel. The doorman gave me a long hard look but I acted like I owned the place and breezed on past. I went up to the bar and ordered an orange juice. Part of me wanted to put a dash of vodka in it but prudence told me that I really didn't want to get drunk. I was sitting there nursing it, trying to remain inconspicuous and wondering what the punter would be like when a slightly tubby middle aged man came over and sat next to me as if we were long lost friends.

"Ah, Ben, it is good to see you." His English, although very good, was accented. Somewhere mid European was my guess. I smiled back at him. This had to be the punter. 

"What can I get you, Mr Novak?" the bartender came over immediately.

"I will have a Glenmorangie, and for my young friend here...."

"No, it's OK, I'm fine, thank you."

"And I think we will take our drinks over in that corner."

"Certainly, Mr Novak, I'll put these on your tab."

We picked up our drinks and I followed him over to a quiet little nook where we would not be disturbed. He sat down on a sofa and patted the seat to indicate that I should sit next to him.

"So, tonight, Ben, I think we shall be good friends," he said as he put his hand on my knee. "You would like that."

"Oh, yes, please, Mr Novak." I smiled at him and his hand moved higher. "I'd love to be friends with a big strong man like you."

I thought, for one moment, that I'd overdone it but, after a short pause, his hand slipped that last few inches and he was stroking my prick through my trousers. I glanced around me. We really were in a very private corner so I snuggled up a bit closer to him. After that it was just a matter of playing along, pretending that he was the most fascinating man I had ever met. He told me all about his wife, back in Prague and how she was the most beautiful woman in all Bohemia. He told me about his two children and how they were the best children ever. He took out his wallet and showed me photos and all I had to do was let him stroke my prick as I agreed that, yes, she was beautiful and, yes, his kids looked charming.

We finished our drinks and he took me on to a really posh restaurant. Here he was keen to show how sophisticated he was, discussing the wine list with the sommelier and, noticeably, ordering for both of us. I just kept fawning all over him, telling him how wonderful he was. Again, we were sat in a quiet corner and, when we got to the coffee and brandies, I moved my chair closer and snuggled up to him. 

"You're a very sexy man. You've got me all hot and horny," I whispered in his ear.

"And you are very sexy as well. I think it is time we went back to the hotel."

So that's what we did. He called over the Maitre D', settled the bill and ordered a cab. Ten minutes later we were walking into the hotel and straight across to the lifts. I gave him a bit of a snog as we were whisked to the top floor and then he led me to his suite. 

"I'll just go and freshen up," I said as I headed for the en-suite. I sat on the toilet and reached for the tube of lube I had stashed in my jacket pocket. Assuming he was going to fuck me then this would be my first time without my having been previously opened up and prelubricated by the pony tail up my arsehole. I squished as much of the lube as I could up inside me and, still with my trousers around my ankles, stood up so as to wash my hands. While I was doing so I spotted the complimentary dressing gowns hanging on the back of the door. That would do nicely. I stripped off, folded my clothes neatly, and put on one of the dressing gowns. Ready or not, Mr Novak, here I come.

When I emerged he was waiting for me in the lounge area of the suite. He looked me up and down but there was no smile on his face, nor in his eyes.

"Why are you dressed like this?" he snarled.

"I thought... I thought...."

"I do not care what you thought. Why should I? You are scum, you are dirt, you are filth. Look at you, you are not a real man! You are weak, pathetic, like a woman, like a little girl and you dare to think that I would have any use for you. Get that robe off and get on the floor like the worm you are!"

I just stood there, amazed at this turn of events. All through the meal he had been so nice, so friendly and now....

"Do as I say!" He lashed out and slapped me across the face. The sheer shock of this knocked me sideways and I stumbled and fell to my knees. 

I looked up at him, at the expression on his face. This was no joke and, in so many ways, I was out of options. I scrabbled out of the dressing gown and lay flat on the floor.

"Look at you. Not a hair on your body, just like a girl. Are you a girl?"

"No, Mr Novak."

"No, you're a filthy homosexual with dirty disgusting habits You think every other man is like you. You think that I am like you. You think that I am homosexual scum just the same as you? Don't you?"

"No, I did think that but I was wrong. I'm sorry, Mr Novak"

"I am not a disgusting pervert, not like you. I am a real man and, like any real man, I know how to deal with your sort, I know what you need, what you deserve. Stay there!"

He went to the bedroom area of the suite, opened the wardrobe and took out a leather holdall which he brought over and put down next to me. The next thing I know he's knelt down beside me, pulled my arms behind my back and cuffed my wrists together. I couldn't see exactly what he used but, by the feel and sound of them they were probably police style handcuffs. Now that my arms were immobilised he attached a thick leather collar around my neck, buckling it quite tightly. It must have had a leash attached because he stood up and I felt the tug on the collar pulling me up as well.

"On your knees, filth!"

I struggled to obey.

"There is only one answer for your sort; you need to be cleansed, don't you? You need the filth beating out of you. Go on, beg, beg me to cleanse you."

Now we had got to the nub. Now I knew what he wanted. I was really going to earn my money on this one. Still, my job was to keep the punter happy so I had no option but to play along.

"Please, Mr Novak, please, I need the filth beating out of me. Please cleanse me, please make me pure." I wasn't sure what all this talk of cleansing was about but it made sense to use the same words as he had done.

Keeping me on my knees he half dragged, half guided me across the room and towards the bedroom area. Once we got there he placed some pillows along the edge of the bed and I had to lean over them so that my backside was uppermost. He put his knee between my legs and pushed them apart and told me to stay like that. It was only a couple of moments until I had no choice. I felt him fastening cuffs around my ankles, cuffs that were attached to some sort of bar, keeping my legs far apart. Then he reached between my thighs, grasping my prick. He squeezed it rhythmically and, naturally, it responded 

"You're filth. What are you?"

"I'm filth, Mr Novak, filth."

"Yes, indeed, your filth, dirt, homosexual scum. You must be cleansed. Is that not so?"

"Yes Mr Novak, I'm filth, I'm dirt, I am homosexual scum that must be cleansed." This was, indeed, what he wanted to hear because his hand worked away between my legs and I was getting harder and harder.

Once he had got me good and worked up he let go, and there was a moment before....

"Jesus! Fuck!" I screamed out. Whatever he had used, I guessed some sort of cane, had left a searing line of fire across my buttocks.

"Silence! Take your cleansing like a man, not like a weak and feeble little girl!"

"I'm sorry, Mr Novak, I'll try."

But, hard as I tried, I couldn't suppress another cry as, for the second time, the cane slashed down.

"If you cannot keep quiet then I shall have to silence you. Stand up."

I slid backwards off the pillows and stood up. In the meanwhile he had gone back to the leather bag and, this time, he brought out a ball gag. I knew better than to resist so I opened wide, and then a little wider, as he filled my mouth with the rubber ball. A strap around my head held it in place and then, once again, I was back over the pile of pillows.

He stood at my left side, his left hand holding my wrists, his right holding the cane. Slowly, steadily, methodically, he laid into me. No part of me between my knees and waist was spared. I have no idea how many strokes he gave me; I soon lost count and they all started to blur into one. I was kicking and screaming but his hand on my wrists held me down, the bar between my ankles stopped me kicking and the ball gag muffled my screams to practically nothing. 

It just seemed to go on and on and on until, at last, it stopped. I just lay there sobbing as the fire in my thighs and arse seared.

But that was far from all of it. I heard him undoing his trousers, opening the condom packet and then I felt him come up behind me. I could feel his prick pushing against my arsehole and I was glad that I had lubed up earlier. With a series of grunts he pushed himself into me, making me wince as he abused my battered flesh.

"I am not a homosexual," he said quite calmly as he buried himself to the hilt in my arse. "I am not scum like you. I am a real man. Do you understand?"

Of course, with me gagged, the question was rhetorical. 

"I despise weak, girly boys like you," he continued as he worked himself back and forth inside me. "You are not fit to be called a man. You are a pervert, a disgusting pervert, worse even than the animals. You're weak, immoral, depraved. You need a real man, a real strong man, a big man, a true man, to show you just how degenerate you are.

"You've no morals, no will power, you cannot control those disgusting, perverted, dirty, dirty thoughts. You're so weak you have to act on them. You lack self discipline and that's why I have to beat it into to you, stroke by stroke by stroke!"

This litany of abuse seemed to be driving him on and I could tell his climax was approaching. He was certainly driving himself into me like a man possessed.

"I'm not like you, I'm not, I'm not. I'm a real man, a strong man, a clean man. I! Am! Not! A! Homosexual!" he cried out as he buried himself inside me and, with a massive shudder, he came.

Exhausted, he collapsed on top of me, muttering 'I'm not... I'm not...' and, for a few moments, we lay there. Then he seemed to pull himself together and stood up and pulled himself out of me. I felt him undoing the cuffs around my ankles and the handcuffs around my wrists and I was free. I slid back off the pillows and got to my feet but, before I could turn around he put his hands on my shoulders.




Pony Boy Ch. 04



"Go, scum, do not look at me. Go to the bathroom, take your things and leave."

I went to the bathroom, undoing the gag as I went. He obviously wanted me out of there as soon as possible but I still needed a moment or two to get myself together. There was a full length mirror and I looked, as far as I was able, at the red raw striping across my buttocks and thighs. It really fucking hurt. He hadn't been playing around in the slightest. 

I wanted a shower, I needed a shower, but that would have been pushing things too far so I just got dressed and, leaving the gag on the washstand, went back into the bedroom. He wasn't there, he was in the lounge area watching the TV. OK, I could take a hint so, as quietly as I could, I headed for the door.

On the way past the dressing table I looked to see if there was anything there for me but there wasn't. Tight bastard. Right at that moment I hated him and I hated myself. 

And then, even as I was crossing the lounge area he didn't turn away from the TV so, without even the courtesy of a 'goodbye', I left.

As the tube train rattled it's way east across London I stood rather than sat. London Underground seats aren't the most comfortable at the best of times and this certainly wasn't the best of times.

I wasn't quite home when my phone bleeped telling me I had a text. It read 'Mr H's office Monday twelve thirty' so I guessed that was when I was going to get paid. 

"No tip, you tight bastard," I muttered to myself.

When I got to Mr H's office on Monday luchtime, Tracy was expecting me and waved me straight through to the inner sanctum. Somewhat to my surprise, when I entered I found not only Mr H but Mr Mason and, amazingly, Jed waiting there as well.

"Come on in, Ben, come on in. Grab a pew, that's if you want to sit down."

That caused a round of laughter from Jed and Mr. Mason. However, my backside had recovered somewhat so, slightly gingerly, I sat down.

"First things first, you were on duty from seven thirty until eleven fifteen but let's call that four hours at one hundred per which is a grand total of four hundred quid." Mr H reached for the cashbox in his desk drawer.

"On top of that he asked me to give you this," Mr. Mason put in and he handed me a sealed envelope with 'Ben' written on it. I opened it up and it was packed with twenties. OK, maybe he did tip after all. I put the envelope, along with the four hundred Mr H had given me in my jacket pocket. I was still not exactly happy about what had gone on but that made it a lot easier. 

"I suppose you're wondering what Jed is doing here," Mr. Mason said. "Well, I've got a job for you both, the two of you together. Jim Bothwick comes out of clink on Friday and we're giving him a bit of a welcome home. His mate Gerry saw you two performing last Thursday and he reckons your little dance routine is just the thing to help the party along. Now the thing is that, as far as I'm concerned, it's only the best for Jim Bothwick and, rather than that pretty lame routine you two worked out on the spur of the moment, you're going to give him a proper show.

"First things first, I want to make it a bit more theatrical. Having you suck Jed off was all very well but it's not really enough. I want to give it more of a story and, with that in mind, I've gone out and bought you a costume. Harold, will you get Tracy to bring it in, please?"

Mr H pressed the buzzer on his desk and, a moment or two later, Tracy appeared at the door holding a couple of coat hangers and a plastic shopping bag. As soon as I saw them my heart sunk and, when I spotted the tartan miniskirt, I knew exactly what I was in for.

"You have got to be kidding me," I groaned.

"No one's kidding, Ben. These are the costumes I've picked out for the two of you and that's what you're wearing. I do hope I'm not going to have problems with you over this."

He looked at me and I could see that he was dead serious. I'd never really seen this side of Mr. Mason before. There was no actual threat, no threat at all, but it was as clear as day that it wouldn't be wise to cross him. 

"No, no, of course not," I said hurriedly.

"So what's this story then?" Jed asked. "It had better not be me wearing that fuckin' skirt."

"Don't worry, Jed, it's Ben who will be wearing the skirt and as for calling it a 'fucking' skirt, well I think that's another improvement we ought to make. Rather than have Ben suck you off I think you ought to fuck him. How does that sound?"

"Yeah, I can do that."

"Right, Ben, why don't you try it on and see whether it fits?"

"Right here?"

"Unless you have any objections," and, again, in a simple and seemingly innocuous phrase, Mr. Mason had made it clear that it would be best if I didn't have any objections.

I stood up and started to get undressed. Tracy hung the coat hangers and bags on the hat stand behind Mr H and, as I took off my clothes, she held out her hand to take them from me. Once again I ended up stark naked in the middle of Mr H's office. There was a certain amount of discussion about the bruising that Mr Novak had left but it was agreed that it would be gone by Friday so that was OK.

The outfit was everything I feared. Well, not quite, it was pretty well made and not some cheap party favour but, in terms of what it did for me, it made me look a fool. The skirt was barely long enough for decency, but then decency was never the object of this exercise. At least I got to wear panties. The blouse was made to be tied up in front and I was showing plenty of bare skin around the waist. It had a silly clip on tie thing as a nod towards being a school uniform but, in all my years at school, no one, boy or girl, had ever worn anything like this. Even then the humiliation wasn't finished. There were white ankle socks and high heels to go on my feet and, at the other end, a blonde wig.

"Oh, Ben, you look so cute!" Tracy exclaimed. "Let's see you walk about."

God, high heeled shoes; how do women manage? Blowed if I know because my attempts at walking just had the four of them howling with laughter.

"No, Ben, small steps and swing your hips. And at least try and look sexy," Tracy called out. "'arold, we can't call her 'Ben', not in that get up. What's her stage name."

"Belinda. Yeah, Belinda Bombshell," Mr. Mason put in. "That's perfect. Now, Jed, let's see what Tracy has for you."

What Tracy had for Jed was a teacher's gown and a cane. This was going from bad to worse.

"OK, let's work on the basics," Mr. Mason ordered. "Harold, music please."

Harold took an iPod and put it in a docking station. The next thing I knew ABBA' were singing something about 'When I Kissed the Teacher'. Corny or what but at least it had a good beat.

When Mr. Mason told us the plot he wanted to use it was just as corny as the music. I was supposed to be the naughty schoolgirl who had been called to the teacher's office after school. When I got there I was supposed to try to use my feminine whiles to try to get out of the punishment. In short I was supposed to offer him a blow job instead. He would refuse, I would be bent over the desk, and he would start punishing me until, overcome by the sight of my arse, he would fuck me. As I said, it wasn't much of a plot but then, when has porn ever bothered with plotting. Moreover, seeing as we were going to have to do all this using dance and mime I was glad that it was simple.

Our first run through was a disaster. I was still having problems with the heels so I was as graceful as a pig on stilts and Jed, poor thing, simply hadn't got a clue. However, with Mr. Mason acting as choreographer, we went through it again and again until we had the basics worked out. It wasn't quite as simple as it might seem at first. When I was being caned Mr. Mason wanted me with my arse facing the audience. However, when Jed was fucking me he wanted me side on. Somewhere in between we had to get Jed's prick out and get a condom on it. Getting all that right was quite complicated. Fortunately, as we were just practicing, Jed wasn't actually caning me for real, nor was he actually fucking me but, instead, he would push his prick up and down the crack of my arse. Whatever his misgivings about the show he was certainly enjoying my humiliation enough to be good and hard as he did so. By the end of the afternoon my feet were in agony and I had definitely had enough. Even Mr. Mason grudgingly admitted that there was little point in continuing. We weren't done yet, not by a long chalk, and he insisted that we were to come back on Wednesday after lunch to work on it some more.

With a sigh of relief I was finally allowed to change back into my normal clothes. I put the skirt and blouse back on their hangers and the rest of the stuff in the plastic bag. Then I got dressed and headed for the door leaving my costume hanging on Mr H's hat stand. However, Mr. Mason stopped me before I had gone two paces.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Home. I thought we'd finished for the day."

"And what's that?" he pointed at the hat stand.

"My costume. I thought I'd leave it here until Wednesday."

"Well, think again, sunshine. You've got a lot of practice to do before you can walk properly in those shoes and, while you're at it, I want you to practice wearing the rest of the get up at the same time. At the moment you look like a joke and I'm not going to spoil Jim Bothwick's coming home party by putting on a show by two halfwits who can't get anything right. By Friday you're going to be perfect. You're going to look like you're Belinda fuckin' Bombshell and, more importantly, you're going to act like her and the only way your going to manage that is to practice until you're perfect. You have not got time to sit on your arse over this one. I'll see you on Wednesday."

I was walking back to my car when I saw Jed standing at the bus stop. I'm not sure why but something made me go over to him.

"Jed, can I offer you a lift?"

"Yeah, alright." 

Together we walked round the corner to where my car was parked and got in. He told me he lived in Hackney which wasn't exactly on my route but then I couldn't refuse after having offered.

"This is fuckin' joke, init?" Jed said after a while. "Fuckin' dance routine for some gangster's coming out party."

"Hey, you're not the one getting fucked up the arse while dressed as a schoolgirl," I replied bitterly.

"Maybe not but that doesn't mean that you're not loving it, loving every second. You're just a little show off who likes being the centre of attention."

"You can't exactly be shy, not in our game."

"Our game? What the fuck do you know about 'our game'? You've hardly been with us for five minutes and you're winning all the races and walking off with all the best punters. You're not one of us and, what's more, you don't want to be one of us. You think you're something special; you have done right from the start."

That one hurt, possibly because there was more than a grain of truth in it. We drove on for a while in silence until we got to Hackney and Jed had to give me instructions on how to get to his flat. When we got there it was a sixties tower block and it looked grim, really grim.

"You live here?" I asked in amazement as I pulled in to the car park.

"Yeah, why shouldn't I?"

"It looks a bit rough."

"Well, it suits me then. I'm a bit rough."

"But... with the sort of money we earn couldn't you afford something better."

"I don't want something better. Anyway, it's cheap and... and I'm saving up."

"What are you saving for?"

"My out, you retard. How long do you think you can last as Mr. Mason's rent boy? How long before it all gets too much? How long before he sends you to some sadistic bastard who goes too far and puts you in hospital? You need an out. You've got to have an out."

"But... as soon as I've finished my college course I'll stop."

"And how will you do that?"

"I'll just go to Mr. Mason and tell him."

Jed just looked at me. However, there was a change. In among the disdain there was something else, pity, maybe.

"God you're fuckin' green. You'll learn, we all do in the end. Thanks for the lift."

And, with that, he was gone.

I had quite a bit to think about as I drove myself home. In Jed's terms he had really opened up to me and when he had called me green it wasn't the usual put down but more a warning. What was Jed warning me about? 

When I got to my room I hung the outfit up on the back of my bedroom door and sat down on the bed looking at it. Maybe I'd been a bit too quick to judge; maybe Mr. Mason did know a thing or two about how I should dress. Now that I had got over the shock of having to wear it I could see that, in many ways, it was perfect for Belinda Bombshell in the role of sexy schoolgirl. It was girly, sexy and left absolutely no doubts as to my availability; it was just the thing for a sex crazed tart. What's more, Mr H's office had been a bit short on mirrors so I hadn't actually got to see what I looked like wearing it. Mr. Mason had said that I looked like a joke. He had said that I had to not only look like Belinda Bombshell but become her. Maybe it was time to see what he meant.

Once again I got undressed but this time without an audience. Then I looked inside the plastic bag which held the wig, the shoes, the socks and the panties.

This time, as I put the panties on, I thought about how girls clothes are so much nicer than boys clothes. Take the panties; they were soft white cotton and felt so nice against my skin. They looked a little strange where my prick made them bulge at the front and, if I got hard, then my prick would poke up, over the waistband, but they were much nicer to wear than my normal boxers. I stood in front of my full length mirror and struck a few poses; they looked really sweet. It was a little weird but I really liked how it felt wearing them. They weren't exactly sexy, not in a Belinda Bombshell way, but they spoke to something inside me and I could get into using something like these for everyday wear. I mean, they felt so nice and no one would ever know I was wearing them. The only problem was that I couldn't just go down to Marks and Sparks and pick up a dozen pairs. On the other hand, on line, I could probably buy them in secret. 

Still wearing just the panties I sat down at my desk and fired up my laptop. It was just curiosity; I merely wondered what was out there. I mean, I'd looked before, hasn't every young lad, but never with the possibility or actually buying them. Of course, all the High Street stores have web sites and there was no shortage of options. In some sort of haze I clicked from site to site until I came across this set of seven, all in pretty pastel shades with lace edging, a pretty little bow at the front and a lovely little heart motif. I only meant to check out how much they cost but, before I knew it, I was entering my credit card details. After all, it wasn't as if I couldn't afford them. There was a deliciously naughty feeling when I finalised the purchase and, when I stood up again my prick was hard and poking out of the top of my panties. 

I looked at myself in the mirror and wondered about what I had just done. There was something about dressing as a girl that got to me but that didn't mean I wanted to be a girl. I wasn't a girl trapped in a boy's body, as I've sometimes heard it described. No, I was happy being a boy; I just liked being a boy wearing girl's panties. What was wrong with that? 

Still, that had just been a massive distraction from the task at hand. I went back to the hangers on the back of the door and took down the skirt and blouse. The blouse didn't really work. Let's face it, you need tits to get that Britney Spears look but, without a blouse, the outfit would have looked ridiculous. The skirt, on the other hand, was fine. OK, I didn't really have the hips and my legs, even in their shaven state, aren't that feminine but, now that I could see myself in the mirror, I could see how the skirt could be used to give tantalising glimpses. Tracy had been banging on about this but I hadn't really understood. 

Putting on the wig was weird. It completely changed who I was and how I looked. Now I wasn't just wearing girls panties, I was wearing the whole persona. When I stared at myself in the mirror it was Belinda, not Ben who stared back. Belinda Bombshell, what a little floozie! Talk about bangs like a barn door in a gale. However, it wasn't quite there. I could still see traces of Ben showing through. If I could only get some make up then the whole thing would be far more convincing. Even plucking my eyebrows would be a start. I nearly reached for some tweezers there and then but discretion cut it. Wearing girls panties was one thing, plucking my eyebrows was another. There was no way I could hide that during my 'normal' life.

And now, all but completely in role, I had to face up to the problems I had had with the shoes. They had been the bane of my life back in Mr H's office but there was no way Belinda Bombshell was going out on stage without being completely confident on her heels. I went back to my laptop and googled 'how to walk in high heels' and, to my surprise, there were plenty of helpful videos. As I watched I could see what I was doing wrong. I was still trying to walk like a man. I had to walk like a fashion model.

Slightly gingerly I put the shoes back on and went and stood in front of the mirror. There was no denying that they made my legs look longer, sexier. Remembering all the tips from the videos I had just watched I put my head up, my left hand on my hip and walked across the room. It didn't look at all bad. Now it was time to try it to music. I went back to my laptop and found 'When I Kissed the Teacher' on YouTube. It was time to go to town. 

I strutted around the room letting my hips swing in time to the music and, in the short flared skirt, it was perfect. Belinda Bombshell was sex on legs and didn't care who knew it. This was just the thing for Jim Bothwick and his friends; they wouldn't see me, they would see Belinda Bombshell in her role as the sex crazed schoolgirl. I could flirt and tease, play the coquette as much as I wanted. I could hint at what was under my skirt without ever quite being blatant about it, although, god knows, with the act that Mr Mason had devised it wasn't long before I would be leaving no doubt whatsoever as to what they would find there.

However, my feet were still giving me gyp and, as the videos had stressed, this meant it was time to give them a rest so I kicked off my shoes and sat down on the bed. I looked across the room at the mirror and, immediately, it struck me. There I was sitting the way a guy would, with my knees apart. Talk about unladylike! The skirt was so short you could see all the way up to my tonsils. This was yet another thing I was going to have to learn. At least I now had a mirror to practice in. I tried out my best Betty Boop impersonations and it became immediately apparent that posture was going to be just as important as clothing in my efforts to come across as Belinda Bombshell.

On Wednesday morning, when I got back from the gym, I found a package waiting for me on the hall table. The BHS label on packaging meant it had to be the panties I had ordered. As I took it up to my room I was as nervous as I'd ever been. Now that I was faced with the reality would I still want to wear them or were they just a stupid fancy. I tore off the wrapping and laid them out on my bed.

My heart thrilled as I looked at them; they were even prettier than they had appeared on the computer screen. I couldn't resist trying them on immediately so I shrugged off my jeans, pulled down my boxers and chose a pair in powder blue. They were absolutely perfect. Just as on Monday, it wasn't about the sex. They appealed to something deep inside me and, I'm not sure I could explain it but I just felt better wearing them. I put my jeans back on and, from the outside, I looked absolutely normal. Anyway, I didn't have time to muck around, time was getting on and I was late for my lectures.




Pony Boy Ch. 04



After lunch in the canteen I nipped back home, picked up my costume, and made my way to Mr H's office ready for another practice session. Jed hadn't got there when I arrived and Mr H told me that Mr. Mason would be arriving later. Not that it made much difference. I still had to strip off and get changed and, as I did so, Tracy hung around, taking my clothes and folding them up.

"Ooh, nice panties, Ben!" Tracy laughed as I pulled down my jeans.

I blushed furiously. I'd completely forgotten I was wearing them.

"Err... er... I haven't had time to wash the ones you gave me on Monday," I extemporised.

"If you say so. So, these were just a pair you happened to have hanging around, are they?"

I'd run out of excuses. I just stood there, naked except for my panties, feeling about as stupid as they come. To make matters worse, at that moment, there was a knock on the door. Tracy went to answer it and there was Jed.

"Come on in, Jed. Ben's just getting changed. How do you like his new panties? Very schoolgirl!"

Jed just grinned.

"Come along or we'll be here until midnight. Tracy, stop distracting the lads. Ben, get your costume on. Jed, your gown and cane are in the cupboard. Now, get on with it." Mr H had had enough.

While I finished getting changed Jed went to the cupboard and found his gown and cane. Mr H started the music and we were off. Mr H seemed really pleased with the way I had improved. However, he did keep telling me to camp it up more. I wasn't just to be girly, I was to be really girly. I felt it was all a bit over the top but he and Tracy assured me it was fine. I had practiced all Tuesday afternoon and was much, much better in the heels and could really strut my stuff, much to their amusement. Meanwhile, Jed was never going to be a dancer but his role was to look mean and fuck me when the time came. Mind you, he was pretty good at taking direction and, although I say it myself, we were getting the act down to a fine art.

This was reinforced when, come five o'clock, Mr. Mason arrived. Immediately he demanded that we run through the routine again so Mr H restarted the music and Jed and I went through our paces.

"Yeah, that's not so bad," Mr. Mason grudgingly accepted once we had finished. "Belinda, you need to camp it up a bit more and Jed, keep that mean look in your eyes. Right, let's try it one more time and this time, let's see you do it for real."

"For real?" I had got so into practicing that I had, somehow, forgotten that, at the end of it all, Jed would not just be tapping me with the cane, nor would he just be rubbing himself against my arse crack.

"Are you dumb or something," Mr. Mason said. "I want this absolutely perfect and that means you two have to practice every single aspect of it. Jed, I want him marked but not screaming, got me."

"I got ya, Mr. Mason."

"And Belinda, when Jed's fucking you, I want everyone to see how much you're getting off on it. Understood?"

"Yes, Mr. Mason." 

"OK, Belinda, get lubed up and we'll give it a go."

"Has... has anyone got any lube? I wasn't expecting..."

"For fuck's sake!" Mr. Mason exclaimed.

Fortunately Tracy had some. I wasn't going to ask why. When she produced it I asked where the toilets were but Mr. Mason told me I'd wasted enough time and it would be quicker if Jed applied if for me right there and then. He told me to stop messing around, bend over the desk and spread my legs. Yet another on the ever increasing list of indignities. Mr. Mason hadn't yet told us how much we were to get paid for this dance routine. I hoped it was going to be worth it.

Jed pulled down my panties until they were stretched between my legs just above my knees. Then he put a condom over his finger, covered it in lube and then poked it inside me, opening me up and making me ready for him. He wasn't gentle but he wasn't as rough as others had been. Despite the indignities, despite the cold and emotionless way this was being done, there was still something about it that got to me and my prick started to harden. Jed, at least, noticed this and, in response he finger fucked me, opening me up and making me slippery. 

"OK, that's enough, stop mucking around and get on with it," Mr. Mason ordered. Jed removed his finger, took off the condom and threw it in the bin. Mr H started the music and, once again, we went through the routine. 

It seems so obvious looking back but it was surprising how very different it all was now that the caning and fucking were for real. Before I had been wiggling my arse as Jed had tapped it gently with the cane. Now I was flinching with pain as the cane left ribbons of fire across it. He didn't strike any where near as hard as Mr Novak but I couldn't help but react, keeping still was impossible and, although I managed to stifle the cries of pain which threatened to escape, there were still very genuine tears in my eyes.

And then we got to the fucking part. 

And that's where Jed really surprised me. I was expecting a certain level of brutality. After all, I had been fucked three times before and each time it had effectively been rape. The sex had been violent, brutal, a taking, a violating. I had been seen as scum, a Hure, a symbol of everything that was despised. Jed was still forceful and I was still, very much, the one getting fucked but there was an acknowledgement that, in taking his own pleasure, Jed was pandering to mine as well.

Jed was taking his time from the music but, rather than pounding into me to the rhythm of ABBA's disco beat, he was using that beat to mark out a slower rhythm, one that allowed us both, and I hope the onlookers, to savour every inch as he slid in and out of me. Because I wasn't being held down and raped I could respond, push back to meet his thrusts and, as Mr. Mason had demanded, let everyone see how much I was getting off on it. 

Jed was keeping the rhythm steady and in time to the music but the intensity of his thrusting was growing. I wanted to feel him come inside me, I really wanted to feel him come inside me but, in the long-standing porn tradition, the 'cum' shot had to be seen to be real. Jed withdrew, ripped off the condom and I felt the gobbets of spunk splashing all over my arse and dripping down the back of my thighs.

There was a smattering of semi ironic applause from Mr. Mason, Mr. H and Tracy as I stood up and as Jed gave a bow, I gave a little curtsey.

"Not bad, not bad at all," Mr. Mason commented.

"Can I make a few suggestions?" I asked.

"Go on."

"Will we be... err... entertaining the guests after the show?"

"What do you think?"

"I which case I'll need not just clean panties but a clean skirt as well. This one's getting a bit sticky. I can manage the panties but..."

"OK, good point. Tracy, pick him up another skirt, will you?"

"Will do, Mr. Mason."

"One more point," I started.

"And that is?"

"My wig, it would look a bit more schoolgirl if I had, what do you call it, bangs. I've been studying that Britney Spears video and she's got a pigtail type thing either side, all tied up in ribbons. That shouldn't be too hard to copy. And then there's make up."

"What about make up?"

"I'd look a lot more girly if I wore some lipstick. Thing is, I don't know how to do it. I don't think I'll be able to learn in time. If I tried it I'd just look stupid, not sexy."

There was a bit of a silence during which Mr. Mason looked at Tracy.

"OK, Mr. Mason, but that's another favour you owe me," she said at last. Then she turned to me. "Don't touch the wig. I'll see to that. In fact, I'll see to everything, again." She shot a glance at Mr. Mason. "Just make sure you're there an hour early. Now take this and wipe the spunk off your arse. You're dripping all over the office carpet." 

She handed me a tea towel that usually did service drying out the tea cups and I used it to wipe down the back of my legs. However, when I tried to hand it back to her she refused.

"You've got another think coming if you think I'm touching that thing before it's been washed. Better still, you can buy me a new one. For fuck's sake, 'arold, were do you find 'em?" 

Wilting somewhat under Tracy's obvious disdain, I took the tea towel and used it to wrap up my soiled skirt and panties before starting to get dressed again. I had to go commando but I put my jeans and tee shirt back on and I was busy tying up the laces of my trainers when Mr. Mason stood up.

"Jed, Ben, just in case you haven't got the message, this one is important to me. Fuck this up and I'll fuck you up, understood? Now, there's no pony racing tomorrow so you've got the night off. I'll send a car to pick you up. Tracy, you said you needed an hour, yes? OK then, Ben, you're to be ready for seven thirty and Jed, you're to be ready for eight thirty. Has anybody any questions? No, well, I'll see you all on Friday then."

And, with that, we were dismissed. Jed and I trooped downstairs and, as with last time, I offered him a lift. For a while we drove in silence but there was something that was bothering me and I had to get it out.

"Thanks," I said after a while.

"What for?"

"For... for not hurting me. Look, I know you don't like me, you've made that clear enough but I appreciate that you didn't take it out on me while... while...."

"While I was fucking your arse?"

"Yeah, that's the one." We both grinned at this.

"You still don't get it, do you. OK, so I think you're a stuck up pompous little prick who thinks he knows it all while really you know fuck all but... but... but if we've got to do a show together, if that's what Mr. Mason wants, then there's no point in fighting each other. On the race track, sure, I'll do whatever it takes to beat you but, on stage in front of the punters, I'm not the enemy. Anyway, it's better when I fuck you nice and slowly. I know you think you're the performer but I'm the one under pressure. If I don't make it, if I can't come all over that spotty arse of yours, then I'm in big trouble. It's in my interest to make it as sexy as possible."

"Well, thanks anyway."

"Anyway, you'd better get used to it."

"Why's that."

"Because, if Friday's a success, and it had bloody well better be, then it won't be the last time you and I have to perform together. You really started something, back there at the party."

"It wasn't my idea to get you involved."

"No, but it was your idea to do the blow job thing. That's what put the idea in Mr. Mason's head and you can bet your bottom dollar he's going to sell his new party act all around town. What's more, he's going to want to keep changing the act, making it better. It'll be threesomes before you know it. You'll be the one in the middle, one up the arse and one in the mouth. I hope you're up for that."

"I doubt there's much I can do to avoid it."

"Now he's getting it. OK, here's where I get out."

I pulled into the car park and Jed reached for the door handle.

"Thanks for the lift."

"You're welcome and... if Mr. Mason does have us doing threesomes then I hope it's you that's up my arse."

Jed just laughed as he got out.

On Thursday I went to the laundrette and washed the skirt and my various panties. They were mixed in with my more normal clothes so it wasn't too conspicuous. While they were in the tumble I nipped to the shops and, among other things, went into Dunelm Mill and picked up a My Little Pony tea towel for Tracy. While she was 'only' Mr. H's secretary it was becoming clear that she had a certain amount of influence and it would be a good idea to keep her sweet.

On Friday I made my excuses early and went back to my place where I, once again, ironed the blouse and the skirt. The shoes were patent leather so they didn't need polishing but a quick wipe with a damp cloth did them no harm at all. I had a shower and a shave using a new razor blade to make it as close as possible. Mind you, my fine blonde hair doesn't make much of a beard at the best of times. I was ready by seven fifteen and spent quite a few anxious moments waiting for the car. As soon as it arrived I was out of the door to meet it and, moments later, I was being whisked into town.

The car eventually pulled up in an alley way full of dustbins and refuse. The driver pointed out the unmarked door and told me that 'this is it'. I got out, went over and knocked on the door. A guy wearing chef's whites opened it and, when I said I was Ben, he told me to come on in. This was evidently the back door to some sort of private club and I was led upstairs to the function room. The bulk of the room was taken up with a huge table with seating all around the edge. At one end there was a small stage. I went up on the stage, pushed through the curtains, and found my way to a row of dressing room doors, one of which was marked 'Jed & Belinda'. I went in and I was just hanging up my stuff when Tracy and another much older woman arrived.

"'Ello Ben, this is my mum. Mum, this is Ben who, by the time we've finished with him, has got to be Belinda. Right, we haven't got time to muck around. Ben, get your kit off and sit it that chair facing us."

Tracy's mum, meanwhile, had put one of those metal cases on the dressing table and opened it up to reveal more make up than I would have believed possible. Meanwhile I stripped down to my panties and hung my clothes up. I looked at Tracy, my eyes asking the question.

"Aw, mum, he's shy! OK, Ben, you can leave your panties on for now."

And, with that, they set to work. I got the complete, head to toe treatment and, when I say head to toe I mean that literally as it included a pedicure as well as a manicure. Naturally, for Belinda Bombshell, the nail varnish was a bright crimson. Then they set to on the face. They really gave me the works although, as I was sat facing away from the mirror, I couldn't see a thing. As Tracy's mum finished off Tracy took the wig out of the bag and set to with a hairbrush.

When Tracy's mum was ready they put the wig on me and started doing pigtails, one either side. I still couldn't see so I was having to completely trust them. Not that I had any choice in the matter. They still hadn't quite finished when Jed arrived.

"Hi everyone. Wow! Belinda, sweetie, look at you! Looking like that I might have to fuck you later."

"Hi Jed. How's it going? All ready for tonight?" I replied, a shade wearily.

"No problems."

"Well, get out of the way and let mum and I finish, then," Tracy said but she was smiling as she did so.

At last they were finished. I stood up but, before I could turn around, Tracy insisted that I finished getting dressed. First she told me that I had to change my panties. She said I was to take off the strawberry pink ones I had chosen and she handed me some Hello Kitty panties and told me to put them on instead. Apparently Mr Mason had chosen them. I will admit they were very sweet but I still preferred mine. Then I put on the skirt, the blouse, the ankle socks and the shoes and, finally, I was allowed to turn towards the mirror.

As Jed had said, wow! OK, there were some things that even Tracy and her mum could do nothing about. With the best will in the world I would never have tits but, despite that, what I saw in the mirror really was Belinda Bombshell. I did a little twirl and admired how well it had all come together.

"Gor, just look at her," Jed laughed. "Is she vain or what?"

"Just admiring Tracy's mum's handiwork," I replied.

"Bollocks! The only thing you're admiring is yourself.

At that moment Mr. Mason came in to check we were all ready. He gave us both a thorough going over and seemed really pleased with the make up.

"You're a doll, Maureen," he said to Tracy's mum. "Lovely job, as always." 

He got out his wallet and handed over some notes. I couldn't see exactly how much there was but they were twenties and a lot more than one of them. 

And then all we had to do was wait, and wait, and wait. We weren't the only act and we could hear snatches of music coming from the stage. Tracy and her mum chatted quietly but Jed and I were too nervous. I had to give it to Jed, he had made the effort for the evening and was looking pretty cool. He caught me looking him over so I gave him some of my best Betty Boop poses which made him smile.

And then we were told that we were on in ten minutes. There was a minor panic when Jed asked me if I'd lubed up and I realised that I'd forgotten. I wanted to use the tiny toilet that was attached to the dressing room but there was too much risk of my getting lube on my skirt or panties. Jed told me, rather firmly, to bend over the dressing table, pull down my panties and spread 'em. He slipped a condom over his finger, lubed it up and pushed it into me. 

God it felt good. Jed was being quite matter of fact about things but, even so, his well lubed finger felt so good as he pushed it deep within me. I couldn't help myself; I gave a groan and pushed back with my arse. Jed came up beside me so that he could whisper in my ear.

"You love that, don't you?"

I just nodded.

"Ready for my prick, you little whore?"

This time I bit my lip as I nodded.

"For fucks sake, you two, stop mucking around, you're on stage in a moment and you need to wipe up before pulling those panties back up. You don't want lube stains."

Tracy was right to hurry us, we were barely finished before we were taken up onto the stage where Mr. Mason was waiting. He looked at us and we took our places and nodded. Mr. Mason turned on the mic and we heard over the PA "Ladies and gentlemen, for your next act tonight the Winchester Club is delighted to announce, with the world premier of their new dance routine, Dark Arrow and Belinda Bombshell!"

The curtains opened in that rather jerky way that the do on small stages and 'I Kissed the Teacher' blared out of the PA. To the cheers and jeers of the audience, we were off.

Suddenly I was really glad of all that practice. It was so, so different in front of an audience, especially an audience that was as raucous as this one. Almost immediately there were shouts of 'go on, darlin', get yer tits out' and such like. I camped it up as much as I could and they lapped it up, loving every minute of it. The odd thing was, although I could hear them I couldn't see them. The stage lights were so bright that I couldn't really see beyond the front of the stage. I knew they were out there but it was all a blur.

I did my little routine, trying to persuade 'teacher' not to cane me but, as per the script, it was to no avail. Jed bent me over the desk and, as he flipped up the back of my skirt, the place went wild. Down came my panties to more cheering. 'Please, Jed, not too hard,' I thought to myself but this lot wanted the show and they weren't going to put up with love taps. Swish, thwack, the first blow landed and the whole place shouted "one!"

One was, of course, followed by two, followed by three and I knew that they were not going to be happy without the traditional 'six of the best'. However, when Jed got to six there was a shout of "seven" and Jed knew enough to keep going. I was really glad I had my back to the audience; this was really hurting and it was only by gripping the far side of the desk as hard as I could that I was managing to stay in place. 

By the time I had had the full dozen both my arse and the tops of my thighs were on fire. Still, I couldn't stop the show; my 'punishment' was far from over. Jed was doing the bit where he was 'overcome' by my sexy arse and, as per the script, he turned me side on to the audience and, to the cheers and encouragement of the audience, he lined his prick up with my arsehole.

OK, so I'd both given and received blow jobs in front of an audience before but I'd never done anything like this. There was only one way to handle it. I had to put the mask on to hide any pain, any humiliation, any shame Ben might feel; I had to play Belinda Bombshell to the max. As Jed worked his prick in and out of me I turned my head towards the audience and gave them a massive wink. Belinda Bombshell was loving this and the audience loved that she was loving it. They were clapping along, cheering and jeering, urging Jed to fuck me harder. I picked up on this and made a big play of pushing back and the audience were quick to notice. "Look at 'er, dirty cow, can't get enough of him!" was typical of the shouts.




Pony Boy Ch. 05



This is the fourth chapter of 'Pony Boy' and, if you haven't read the rest, then please do so first. Quite a bit of the story refers back to events in the earlier parts and it won't make much sense if you read them out of order.

And, of course, there are the usual disclaimers; anyone involved in sexual acts is over eighteen and we're all fictional.

Enjoy

**********

It was noon on Saturday before I finally woke up and, when I went to the kitchen area of my bedsit to fill the kettle and make myself some coffee, I couldn't help but notice my bright scarlet fingernails. Top of my 'to do' list had to be going out and getting some nail varnish remover. Getting caught with painted nails would lead to all sorts of questions, none of which I was ready to answer. I nipped down to the local discount chemists and, blushing somewhat as I paid, went and bought some, along with baby wipes and a few other bits and pieces.

As I scrubbed at my nails I thought things over. I had a lot to think about. This whole thing was escalating out of control. Right at the beginning I had just thought that I'd run a few races. OK, so I'd be naked but, I thought, that would be it. No sex apart from, as Mr. H had once said, a little groping. 

And now? And now I'm up on the stage being caned and sodomised for the entertainment of some sort of East End gangster. 

Mr. Bothwick's coming home party had been simultaneously frightening, exhilarating, exciting, painful, sordid, erotic, and, above all, an intense experience. There can be few things more degrading than being on your knees in some filthy toilet stall giving a complete stranger a blow job and yet... and yet... just thinking about holding their hardening cocks in my hands, taking them in my mouth, feeling them respond, hearing them gasp with pleasure as they came, sent little tingles through me. It was almost as if I wanted to see how far down this walk on the wild side could take me.

There was the same sort of ambivalence when I thought about how the way in which Mr. Bothwick had used me. I had been nothing to him, a mere party favour that Mr. Mason had laid on for his amusement. But, more than that, Mr. Bothwick had sought to humiliate me further by making me watch myself in the mirror. He had wanted to rape my dignity as well as my arse. But this had backfired. I had wanted to watch, I had wanted to savour the humiliation. By humiliating me, especially when dressed as Belinda Bombshell, he was playing to my deepest, darkest fantasies.

And if ever there was a tangled web of emotions then it was my relationship with Belinda Bombshell. Was she my inner whore? She certainly wasn't me, except, of course, she was. Right from the start, when I had been sat on Arthur's knee, I had discovered the simpering coquette that lived inside me. Last night, putting on the clothes, the wig, the makeup, had transformed not just my looks but my whole persona. Acting as Belinda Bombshell I would do, and be, things I wouldn't dream of doing otherwise. Importantly, although it was Belinda Bombshell who was doing these things, it was Ben who was getting the kicks from it. 

And finally, as I worked away at the bits of varnish that seemed to get stuck in the cracks, I thought about my relationship with Jed. It had been Mr Jarman's idea of a sick joke to make us perform together, to play to our well known rivalry. Now it seemed that we were stuck with each other. The thing was, now that I was getting to know him, he wasn't that bad a guy. He had had every opportunity to make me suffer and yet, when push came to shove, he had been almost gentle with me. Being fucked by Mr. Bothwick had turned me on because of the thrills, the danger, the edginess. Being fucked by Jed had turned me on because he felt good inside me. I wondered what it would be like to have him fuck me when we weren't surrounded by onlookers, if it were for us, not for an audience.

When my nails were finally clean I took my clothes down to the launderette. Both skirts, several pairs of panties and my blouse all needed washing. I mixed in a few tee shirts and my towel to make it look a little more normal. As for my shoes, they were all but ruined where the toes had been scratched from all the kneeling. If, as Mr. Mason had intimated, we were to do this again, then a new pair would be needed. I'd have to ask Mr H about that when I went to get paid on Monday.

On Sunday I had a footie match and this meant that there was a Rubicon I had to cross. There was no way I could wear my footie kit without it being completely obvious that my arms and legs were shaven and, when we showered together afterwards, my mates would see that the rest of me was bare. However, there was no way round it. Mr. Mason was not going to let me stop shaving so the choice was give up footie or brave it out. I really didn't want to give up footie, especially as all the gym work I was doing had made me fitter and faster.

"Hello Ben, what happened? Get a bit carried away with the razor?"

"I lost a drunken bet with this girl I met down at Club Sanuuk and, after that, well, once you try it you never go back."

"Bollocks, you're just gay."

"Bollocks to you too. Seriously, it was a bit strange at first but Wendy, that's the girl I met, she went wild for it. Shame she was such an airhead. I like a bit of conversation after the sex."

"Ooh, listen to Casanova! Still, if you score goals as fast as you score birds you can be as bald as a coot for all I care."

And, effectively, that was it. I did get one or two strange stares but, once we were out on the pitch, the extra pace I'd picked up from the training held me in good stead and I was tearing through the opposition defence. After that no one gave a damn. In the showers afterwards there was a certain amount of joshing but it was clear that, although I was thought a bit odd, I had got away with it.

Monday lunchtime found me, once again, climbing the stairs to Mr H's office. Tracy sent me through to the inner sanctum where, once again, Mr. Mason and Jed were also in attendance. Naturally sorting out our wages was the first order of business. Apparently we were to be paid two hundred each plus, of course, our three quarter share of the tips.

"Before you count out the money...," I said as Mr H took the notes out of the cash box. I was really nervous about what I was about to say and it would have been easiest if I stayed quiet but I had worried about this all weekend and was determined to see it through. "Look, it's about the tips. I think they should be shared fifty, fifty."

"Really? That's very generous of you," Mr. Mason looked amazed.

"It's just that.... Look, when it's a race meeting we're all equal and it's every pony for themselves, right? I've got no problem with that and I'm not suggesting we share tips from race meetings."

"I should fuckin' well hope so," Jed interjected.

"But when we're doing these shows, and I assume there will be more of them," I looked at Mr. Mason who nodded, "then it's not the same at all. We're not competing against each other, we're working together. The tips we get, it's for the show and we're both part of the show." Still they seemed unconvinced. "Look, it's like when I worked in a pub," I continued. "All the tips went into a jar and, at the end of the night we split them evenly." 

"What about you, Jed, how do you feel about this."

"Well, I'm not going to turn it down, am I? But race nights, that's different."

"Race nights are different," I agreed.

"Well, if that's the way you want it," Mr H said, "then there's a grand total of five hundred and eighty in tips, minus my twenty five percent is four thirty five, split two ways is two hundred and seventeen pounds and fifty pennies. I'm not mucking around with change. You get two fifteen each and you two can fight over the fiver. Now, can we get on?"

Jed and I pocketed the money and he was gracious enough to let me have the spare fiver.

"As young Ben suggested," Mr. Mason said once we had settled down again, "I have had one or two enquiries about your little show. It looks like the two of you are going to be pretty busy, what with one thing and another. For the first few we ought to be able to get away with the naughty schoolgirl routine but you can't carry on with that forever. If we don't change the show it will get stale. I've got a number of ideas."

All the ideas were fundamentally the same. I, or rather Belinda Bombshell, would be dressed up as the naughty nurse, maid, waitress, secretary or whatever and Jed would be the doctor, butler, diner or boss to match. I would do something naughty; he would punish me and then fuck me. 

"How about threesomes?" Mr. H suggested. "We could use Carl. Get that black kid and white kid thing."

"Could do. One either side as the cane him, sort of thing, and then one fucks him as he blows the other. That'll work. We could probably charge more too. Yeah, nice one Harold."

I stood there somewhat aghast. Jed had prophesied this but I hadn't really believed him, or, rather, I hadn't appreciated the import of what he had said.

"Do Jed and I get any say in this?" I asked.

"Have you got any better ideas?"

"Not really, it's just that...."

"In which case your job is to shut up and get on with it. We've got a nice little earner here so don't you go getting all stroppy on me. Now, your next booking is next Saturday so you've got a week to get your act together. Do I hear any objections?"

"No, Mr. Mason," Jed replied immediately. I was less certain.

"Ben?"

"No, Mr. Mason," I replied reluctantly. I had a whole bundle of objections but Mr. Mason wasn't in the least bit interested in hearing about them. "One thing though...."

"What now?"

"My shoes. They..."

"What about your shoes?"

"They got ruined with all the kneeling I had to do."

"Then you had better buy some new ones. That costume you're wearing came out of my pocket but I'm not going to stump up every time you get careless. If you can't look after it properly then it's up to you to replace anything you ruin."

"It's just that I'm not sure where to go," I added hastily. I had hoped that he might pay for them but, instead, he seemed to be getting more and more impatient with me. "I mean, I can't just walk into Shoemarket and ask to see their latest range."

"Tracy knows the place," Mr. H answered for Mr. Mason. "Check with her before you leave."

"And while we're on the subject of who pays for what," Mr. Mason started again. "I also paid for Tracy and Maureen to sort out your makeup. That's not going to happen again. If you're not clever enough to do your own then it's going to be up to you to make your own arrangements."

"But I don't know how...."

"Then you've got a week to learn, haven't you. Now, there's a race meeting on Thursday, and I've got some outdoor racing for you on Friday, and then there's the show on Saturday. You two have got a busy week ahead. I suggest you go and get on with it."

And, with that, we were dismissed. One in the front office I went to Tracy's desk, and asked her about the name of the specialist shoe shop.

"Try this place. Give them a ring first and tell them I sent you. While I've got you, did Mr. Mason talk to you about makeup? If you want me and my mum to do it then we want a ton a head and we need to know in plenty of time."

"I want to see what I can do for myself," I said. Two hundred quid! That came to what I was paid for the show and the thought of handing it all over to Tracy and her mum didn't appeal.

"If you say so but you had better do a decent job of it."

"Are you two discussing makeup?" Mr. Mason had appeared at the door and saw me chatting to Tracy.

"Ben seems to think he doesn't need me," Tracy replied.

"Really? I'm not paying for clowns here, I want a proper show and, if he's a fuck up, then I'm holding you responsible."

"Why me?" Tracy started but then she sighed. "OK, it's always me. Ben, you don't go solo without my say so. Drop by the office Thursday and I'll see how you're getting on. Five o'clock, say."

"Make sure he's ready. Don't let me down on this. Now, have you got last month's accounts?"

"Here they are, Mr. Mason," she said, handing him a file, "and don't worry about Ben. I'll make sure he's ready."

Mr. Mason disappeared back into the inner sanctum.

"If you think I'm putting my neck on the line for you then you've got another think coming. I'll see you here on Thursday, Ben, and, unless you can convince me that you're good enough, then, like it or not, you're hiring mum and me to do it for you. Be here at five o'clock and don't be late."

And, with that, Jed and I left.

"OK, OK, don't get all 'told you so'," I joked to Jed as we made our way through the traffic to Hackney. 

"And you still think you can walk away when you want to? You belong to Mr. Mason now and he won't let go as long as he can earn money out of you."

"I've got the Easter holidays coming up soon. My family will be expecting me back home."

"They can expect all they want. I can't see Mr. Mason letting you go."

"But he'll have to. It's only for three weeks or so."

"Have to? I don't think so. If I were you I'd start thinking up some excuses. Pound to a penny you don't get to go."

I dropped Jed off and drove back home, my head spinning with what I had been told. With each revelation I was finding just how naive I had been. Just a few races, just until I had got enough to go to Malaysia, and no sex, well, apart from a little groping. I should have known it would never stop at that. I still wasn't completely convinced. Next time I saw Mr. Mason I would ask him about Easter, see if I could get the time off. After all, he had seemed quite reasonable, hadn't he?

But in the meanwhile I had my work cut out. Apart from all my college stuff I had to buy myself some new shoes and I had to learn how to put on make up. The thought of having to shell out two hundred quid to Tracy and her mum every time we went on stage was not an appealing one. Once you factored in the shoes I could end up losing money, not earning it. Maybe my suggestion that we share the tips had been a trifle generous. After all, Jed didn't have the expenses I had. Not that I'd go back on that anyway. Jed had made it clear that I'd made a friend with that gesture and it was looking like I would need all the friends I could get.

As soon as I got home I fired up my laptop, went on to YouTube and searched for "How To Apply Makeup" and, when I saw the number of hits, I narrowed it down to "How To Apply Makeup For Crossdressers". For maybe an hour I watched and studied and all the time I was building a shopping list. I looked at the time, the shops were still open; there was still time to go to the chemists and buy the stuff for real. 

When I got there the range was far, far more than I had expected and I stood bewildered in front of the display. I must have looked lost because, after a while, one of the assistants came over. 

"Can I help?"

"I'm just trying to...." Trying to what? What on earth was I going to say? 

"What sort of skin type does she have?"

"Err.... Pretty much the same as me."

She gave me a long, long look.

"This is for you, isn't it?"

I guess my blushes were answer enough. 

"Don't worry, I'm cool with it. I think you'd look great in make up. What sort of look are you after?"

"A... a bit tarty. How did you guess?"

"You're the guy who was in here buying all that hair removal stuff the other week. And then, come Saturday, you're back buying nail varnish remover. And now you're all in a tizz in front of the makeup counter. You don't have to be Sherlock Holmes to work that one out."

"No, I guess not. So, Kaylee," I said, reading her name from her badge, "what do you suggest?"

Kaylee was really nice and ever so helpful. I still ended up spending a fortune but at least it all went together and she gave me the basics of how to put it on. 

"So, what's your name," she asked as she helped me choose mascara.

"Ben."

"No, silly, not that name, what's her name?"

"Oh, I see what you mean. She's Belinda."

"And does Belinda have someone special in her life or is this all just for you."

"Belinda... Belinda has a boyfriend," I lied. Did I, or even Belinda, have a boyfriend? Not in the slightest, but Kaylee seemed to be coming on to me and that felt like the easiest way to get out of it. The last thing I needed was to get her involved.

"All the best ones are gay," she laughed. "Now, that's about all you need for now. Come on, I'll run this lot through the till and, if you find you've forgotten anything, then come straight back and ask for me. I'm here most days. OK?"

That night I had my first three attempts at putting on the makeup. I used quite a bit of it, not to mention the amount of makeup remover I used as I took it off again afterwards. I was also fast finding out why dressing rooms have those big mirrors surrounded by lights. The single ceiling light in my room was nowhere near bright enough for this sort of thing and I ended up having to give it a rest for the night. I gave my face one more thorough wash and headed for the bar. After that lot I needed a couple of pints.

On Tuesday, as soon as my lectures were over, I set out to find the shoe shop that Tracy had recommended. When I got there it looked like any other shoe shop and there were plenty of 'normal' customers browsing the stock. However, as soon as I mentioned that I was the one who had phoned, the one recommended by Tracy, they took me through to the back room where I could try on shoes to my heart's content without having to worry about privacy. 

What's more I could discuss my exact needs without embarrassment. The saleswoman had seen it all before and quite understood the problems such as scuffed toes from kneeling. Her main suggestion was to slip them off before I got down on my knees but, apart from that, she showed me a number of styles, mostly open toed, that would be more resistant to scratching.

"But I'm supposed to be a schoolgirl," I protested.

"Honey, if the shoes are sexy enough, no one's going to give a damn. After all, how many schoolgirls wear heels in the first place?"

Once again, I had found myself a helpful assistant. What's more, she was able to find me the perfect fit which made walking so much easier. I ended up with two pairs, both in black leather, both open toed, both with four inch heels and both gorgeous. At four inches the heels were a compromise between sexiness and practicality. After all, I had to dance in them and then parade around afterwards. The bill came to the thick end of two hundred quid and I am lucky I have small enough feet to fit into women's sizes or it would have been more. Even so, it was worth it. I just hoped I could keep the shoes looking presentable for more than one show otherwise this would be a major drain on my income.

On my way home I picked up a makeup mirror, one with lights. It was a good job I was earning so much. I seemed to be doing nothing but shopping.

When I got back to my room I had another go with the makeup. The mirror was a great help and I was getting better, still not perfect but much better. But once I had the make up on I didn't want to stop there. I had two new pairs of shoes that I was just itching to try on and I had to become Belinda before I could really see how they went with the rest of the outfit. I put on the wig and that really helped with the transformation; I was far less Ben dressed as a girl than Belinda with rather sloppy makeup.

Then I stripped off down to my panties and went over to my wardrobe. The Belinda Bombshell costume was hung there, washed, ironed and ready. I put on the skirt and blouse and, finally, stepped into one of the new pairs of shoes. I stood in front of the mirror, looking at myself with a critical eye. Now it was complete it was even better than I had thought. I might even pass muster come Saturday night, just, but there was plenty of room for improvement and I would do well to practice some more. Furthermore, it was quite clear that the pale lavender panties I happened to be wearing that day didn't go with the tartan mini-skirt and, if I was to wear open toed shoes then I would also have to wear nail varnish on my toes. Indeed, if I were to go the whole hog, then the bare midriff look could also be enhanced with a belly button piercing. 




Pony Boy Ch. 05



But that wasn't the only thing I was critical of. The super short skirt and tied off blouse might do for Belinda Bombshell's schoolgirl impersonation but, as an overall look, it didn't really work for me. Oh, it was the perfect mask when forced to play the randy tart in front of the sort of audiences Mr. Mason was going to put us in front of but the part of me that now wore panties as a matter of course hated it. I was discovering another side to Belinda, a softer side, one that wasn't an out and out whore.

And it wasn't just the whore aspect that was wrong. The schoolgirl costume had been designed to show as much flesh as possible and, especially since I had started going to the gym regularly, my flesh was undeniably male. No amount of makeup could hide my six pack. While this was fine for the Belinda Bombshell sex show it wasn't what appealed to me. What I wanted was clothes the hid my masculinity, not flaunted it. I wondered what Belinda would look like in one of those Chinese dresses, the ones with the high neck. She could tone down the makeup, go for softer, more pastel shades. She could look demure and still look sexy.

But there was little point in dreaming. After all, who would I dress up for? Mr. Mason was paying me for the randy slut and that was what I had to deliver. What's more, I was beginning to understand that, if Mr. Mason found out, it wouldn't take long before he perverted it, before it was just another mask that I wore as I serviced yet another client.

And that was really sad.

But it was getting late and it was time to pack Belinda away and return to being Ben. I still had some college work to do before I went to bed and I had to be up in time to get to the gym for six in the morning.

By Thursday afternoon I had practiced and practiced and practiced. I ended up using so much makeup had to go and buy some more foundation much to Kaylee's surprise. What is more, my crash course in femininity was bearing fruit; I had become quite proficient and felt pretty confident. A wicked thought came to me, one that would prove to Tracy that I didn't need her on Friday. I put on the makeup one more time and, this time, I included nail varnish and the wig. The next bit was the crucial bit. I hadn't got a dress, I'm not sure I could have got away with a dress, but I could compromise. I put on my skinniest jeans and a tee shirt and covered it off with a loose jacket. I looked in the mirror. The jeans weren't that feminine but my painted toe nails, peeking out of the open toes of my shoes certainly were. Of course, my upper body shape was all wrong but the loose jacket covered that up. As long as nobody looked too closely, as long as I remembered to act as a woman, I was ready to put my plan into action.

As quietly as I could I slipped out of the house and into my car where I hit an immediate problem. Driving in heels is a nightmare. If I were going to do this again then I would need to buy myself some slip-on flats. Still, I wasn't going back into the house now. In the end I found that driving barefoot was the easiest option. I drove down to town, parked up around the corner from Mr H's office, put my shoes back on, and stepped out of the car. Putting everything I had learnt into practice I held my head high and swung my hips as I walked down the road. My heart was pumping but nobody seemed to notice, well, not until a white van drove past and I got a wolf whistle. The adrenalin rush was fantastic. That was the validation I needed. I almost wished it were further to walk as, all too soon, I was climbing the stairs to Mr H's office.

"Good afternoon, how can I help... well, look who it isn't. Hello Belinda, you're looking good."

"Thanks. It seemed to fool you for a moment so it can't be all bad."

"Take your jacket off and let's have a proper look."

I took my jacket off and, under her instruction, strutted around a bit.

"Fancy a drink?" she said after a while.

"What!"

"Come on, a quick glass of wine in the pub over the road. I'm buying."

"I'm not sure...."

"Then maybe you're not ready."

I looked at her and she looked at me. If she was prepared to risk it then, why not?

"As long as I can wear my jacket. It's too obvious otherwise."

"Belinda, dearest, I'd insist on it."

She locked up and we made our way down the stairs and across the road. She went straight into the pub and up to the bar with me following on behind.

"Hello, Tracy, glass of pinot grigio, is it?"

"Yes please, Jack."

"And what about your friend?" He looked straight at me. Had I fooled him? Surely not at this range. I had never felt so nervous in my life. Pony racing, post meet parties, assignations with strange men in London hotels, none of these had anything compared to ordering a drink in a completely normal London pub.

"I'll... I'll have the same please," I replied, trying to keep my voice high but not falsetto.

"Coming right up." 

While Jack poured two glasses of pinot grigio Tracy perched herself on a bar stool and I had to do the same. We were right there out in the open, not tucked away in a quiet corner. Tracy paid for the drinks and, for a while, Jack stayed to chat. I just kept my head down until, thank heavens, some other customers came in and he had to go and serve them.

"Don't you want to go to the loo?" Tracy asked after a while.

"No." 

"Oh, I think you do. Off you go."

I stood up and looked around for the toilets. It was only when I did so that I was struck by the full implication of what she wanted me to do. If I went to the gents then I would be admitting I had failed. If I went to the ladies and got found out.... Still, I had no choice and, keeping in role, I made my way over to the ladies.

Once I was actually inside it wasn't quite as scary as it might have been. I mean, it wasn't as if I were going to stand at a urinal or anything. I locked myself in one of the stalls, did my business, and, remembering to wash my hands afterwards, returned to the bar.

"Ooh, you pervert," Tracy joked. "I bet you enjoyed that."

I just sat back down beside her and sipped my drink.

"Seriously, you're fine. You can look after yourself on Saturday but it's not just about the makeup. You'll have to manage your own extras."

"Extras?"

"Yeah, lube, baby wipes, a towel or two and, above all, condoms. Mr H gets them wholesale so I can let you have them at cost. Len Phillips is running the show and he doesn't stand for any nonsense so you shouldn't get into too much trouble. Just try to make sure you don't upset anyone."

"Do as I'm told, in other words."

"That's the best way," she replied after a long, thoughtful pause. "Do as you're told and no one gets hurt."

"Thanks, Tracy, I owe you one."

"Round here everybody owes me one. Now, drink up, I'm late for my supper and you need to get ready for tonight. Pick up is at seven thirty, remember."

We drained our glasses and, with a cheery wave to Jack, Tracy led me back out of the pub.

As I returned to my car I thought over what Tracy had just put me through. The thing was, after the initial shock of 'going public' it wasn't that bad. I wondered if I had really fooled Jack, or any of the other pub patrons, but no one had batted an eyelid when I had gone to the ladies. That must count for something.

I went back home, cleaned off the make up and grabbed a bite to eat. I didn't have time to remove the nail varnish so I decided I'd have to just to go for it. After all, by the time you shave all over, a little scarlet nail varnish isn't going to make that much difference. As it was I barely had time to get to the meeting point before seven thirty. I wasn't the first to arrive and we chatted while we waited for the minibus to arrive. It seemed that I was beginning to get accepted. 

The start of the race meeting was exactly the same as the other two. We were driven to the warehouse and, after a certain amount of milling around, we were herded into the showers before being lined up for inspection. I did note that one of the ponies seemed to be in a bad way, shaking and shivering and when he was, inevitably, rejected he pleaded with Mr H to be allowed to race, arguing that he desperately needed the money. He was led away, somewhat roughly, and I didn't see him again. It was an image I wasn't going to forget in a hurry.

Pete was, once again, my jockey and I quite enjoyed getting prepared. There's something quite delicious about having posing oil rubbed all over you, and I don't just mean my prick. And then, when it was time for the harness, I guess I was getting a little more stretched back there because the plug that held the tail slipped in easily and, once there, was nicely snug and gave me that wonderful full feeling. By the time Pete got round to fastening the straps around my prick I was already good and hard.

I guess Jed was right about me being a bit of a poseur because, when Pete had finished and I was left standing, waiting for the racing, I felt just fine. I liked the feeling of being on display, of knowing my oiled body was shown at its best. I liked the way the pony tail fell down behind, tickling the back of my thighs and I liked the way my prick stood hard and proud in its cage of straps. I even liked the way I was fastened to the sulky, hobbled and blindfolded. It made it more impersonal. I was a pony, on display, not a human being. I knew that pride comes before a fall and all that but I knew I looked good and I didn't give a damn who knew it.

This pride was, if anything, reinforced when the punters arrived. There were more than a few who wanted to run their hands over my body, to cop a feel, implied that I had a body worth feeling. There was quite a bit of chat about how I was the favourite and about my rivalry with Jed. My red nail varnish was noticed and one bright spark put two and two together and commented that he had seen me as Belinda Bombshell at Mr. Bothwick's party.

"If he's as good at running as he is at sucking prick then he's a dead cert!" was the comment. I wondered whether the speaker was talking from first hand knowledge or from reputation. Whichever, it provoked plenty of laughter.

When we got to the actual racing Mr H announced that it would be a circle race. I hadn't got a clue what this was but there was a buzz from the crowd; this was evidently quite a favourite. After some time to allow for the betting my hobble was removed and, still blindfolded, I was led out onto the course. However, once there, I was led on far further than I had remembered it being to the start line. I would have guessed I had been led to maybe half way around. It was only when my blinkers were opened up that I could see why this was. I wasn't at the start line. I looked around, as much as the blinkers would let me. I, and seven other ponies, had been positioned equidistant around the course. I also noticed something else that was new. In this race the jockeys were carrying what I later found out to be called carriage whips, long flexible rods with a short whip at the end. I was still confused over what was going on but, when an air horn sounded and Pete flicked the reins it was obviously time to start running.

I had been slightly surprised by the start and, therefore, not the quickest away but a quick sting in my backside from the whip woke me up and I was soon catching up on the pony in front of me. Pete waited until we hit the straight and then flicked the whip against my backside again and I gave it all I had and powered past him. And then, in front of me, I watched as a pony was overtaken and I started to understand when I saw him being pulled into the side. We came around the big curve at the end and, as we entered the back straight, there was yet another pony that had been pulled over. Evidently any pony who was overtaken was eliminated. This wasn't about being first, it was about last man standing. I had taken out one and now seen two others pulled over. There were at most only five of us left.

Of course, with fewer ponies racing the gaps between us were getting longer. This was going to be all about stamina. Still, that was my forte, I was probably the only non smoker among the ponies and, if the pace was beginning to get to me, it must be killing them. In fact I was closing on the pony in front of me and, as we came into the next straight, I slipped past, easy as pie.

And then, although there were still four of us left, the air horn sounded, the race was over and Pete slowed me down to a trot before running me back to the start line and into the centre circle. As I was being parked up I watched the other eight ponies being led out for their heat. It didn't take much to work out that they were taking four from each heat into the finals. That meant that there was going to be quite a wait. There was the other heat to go and then the qualifiers from that heat would need time to get their breath back. Pete refitted my hobble and closed my blinkers so I was blindfolded again. While we waited he rubbed me down with some more posing oil and massaged my legs to prevent stiffness.

Once again I was attracting quite a few punters. Of course, with circle racing, the betting wasn't just about winning but on how many each pony would eliminate. I gathered the odds on my winning were quite short but, in the final, as it was a race until only one pony was left, there was quite a bit of discussion about how many scalps I would take.

"What do you reckon, Pete?" one of the punters asked.

"Can't rightly say but I'll tell you this, College Boy is one of the best ponies we've ever had in here. Not so fast over the shorter distances but for the long pull like a circle race, put your money on him to win. Dead cert."

"So how about I take him round the stables in the meanwhile?"

"Sorry, Geoff, you know the rules. College Boy is party only."

"What sort of rule is that? What makes him so special?"

"You'll have to ask Mr. Mason that. He's the one who makes the rules."

"You'll have to ask Mr. Mason what?"

"Oh, hello, Mr. Mason, I was just reminding Geoff that College Boy is party only."

"That's right, Geoff."

"And why is that then?"

"Because that's the way my top customers prefer it. He's booked out to Sam Hastings tonight and Sam wants him unsullied. Come on, there are fifteen other ponies to choose from."

"Yeah, but none as pretty as this one."

Geoff, at least I assumed it was Geoff, reached down and cuddled my balls. It was odd being discussed in this way. It was pleasing to know that I was desirable but, even after all this time, it was still disconcerting to have it brought home to me how much my body was being bought and sold. I wondered about this Sam Hastings and what he would want from me. Was I in for another night on my knees sucking pricks or would he want to keep me for himself?

I had plenty of time to ponder this before the final of the circle race. I could hear the second heat taking place and the hubbub that went along with it. Then there was another wait before my hobble was removed and I was, once again, led out onto the course. Even when the blinkers were opened I could only see straight ahead and had only the vaguest notion of which other ponies were involved. One thing I would put good money on was that Jed was one of them. He wasn't the sort to fall in the heats. However, I didn't have time to look about me. Pete had barely got me lined up before the air horn sounded and we were off.

I knew this was going to be a stamina event so I didn't start off too quickly and this was nearly my undoing. The measured pace I had set had allowed the pony behind me to come up on my inside and it was only sharp sting of the whip that alerted me to the danger. As it was I had to go around the outside of the bend and only just held the other pony off. This shook me out of my complacency and I started to realise I would have to work at it. Pete kept using the whip to urge me on so I upped the pace and started in on the pony in front. 

We'd barely completed a lap before I overtook that one and it was now on to chasing the next. Pete was certainly not letting up with the whip and, although it stung rather than hurt, its constant flick, flick, flick against my buttocks made sure I didn't let up one iota. As we came around into the home straight I could see not just the pony I was chasing but the one in front of him as well. Pete slashed me across the backside with the whip but I didn't really need it, my adrenalin was up and I put everything I had into powering on past, just catching the second before I had to cut across so as to make the bend. 

Pete let me take a little breather as we came around the bend and into the back straight. I had just taken out three ponies and could afford to get my breath back. My next target was quite a way ahead and, as long as I didn't let him get any further away, there was plenty of time to catch him. However I could see that I wasn't the only one knocking out opponents. As well as the three ponies I had accounted for there were others pulled up at the edge of the course. By my count there were six who had dropped out which meant there were only two of us left running. However, when we came around the bend and into the home straight, both Pete and I realised that I had had more than enough of a breather. There was no one in sight. I had let the other pony pull away from me and had quite a bit of catching up to do. Pete had, thank heavens, laid off with the whip but he flicked the reins and I stepped it up a gear. 

Even so, it was turning out to be a long haul and it was a full lap before I could, once again, see the other pony in front of me. That spurred me on and, by the time we had completed another lap there was only twenty yards between us. The pony, of course, was, like myself, wearing blinkers and unable to look behind him but his jockey was well aware of how close I was getting and using the whip and reins freely. Pete, on the other hand, was leaving me be, knowing that I didn't need any more urging. This was what I was racing for. The crowd were going wild, cheering me on and the pony in front was starting to crumble. We came to the curve at the end and I knew it was foolish to overtake him there. Rather I waited until we were on the main straight, in front of the stands, in front of everybody as, with a final push, I charged past him.

God I loved winning; there's no feeling like it. Pete reined me in but I still trotted the length of the straight before turning round and trotting back again. I knew I looked good, my head held high, lifting my feet, trotting like a real pony. Oh, the cheers from the stands. I was loving every moment of it. As I came back I could see that the pony who had come second was, inevitably, Jed. Once again I had taken his title but as I went past he looked up, our eyes met and he smiled.

I was led back in to the centre circle and, once there, everybody wanted a piece of me. There were quite a few comments about the whip marks on my buttocks and many used them as an excuse to cop a feel. Not that I minded; the whipping had been more for show than anything else and if the few, fast fading marks added to my desirability then it was all part of the adulation. As they were also tucking quite a bit in tips into my harness it was all to the good. Pete refitted my hobble and closed my blinkers but I quite liked that. It's easier to stand there with hands all over you when you're locked in position. I also seemed to be immune from the ad hoc races that were being organised.

"...and this, Sam, is the pony in question," I heard Mr. Mason say suddenly close. I couldn't see but I could sense the rest of the crowd pulling back a step. If Mr. Mason and his friend wanted to look me over then it seemed they took precedence.

"May I?" someone, presumably Sam Hastings, asked.




Pony Boy Ch. 05



"Be my guest."

I felt the straps around my penis being undone and firm fingers gripped my erection.

"He certainly seems quite eager." The fingers were now pumping me and my prick felt as if it would explode.

"Oh, I think you'll find he's very eager," Mr. Mason replied.

"I can hardly wait. Now, you said I could try taking him for a ride."

"Certainly. Pete, would you get College Boy ready for Mr. Hastings?"

This was a turn up for the books; the first time I had heard of a punter being allowed to drive a pony. Mr Hastings must have real clout. I felt the sulky behind me give a jerk, one more cumbersome than when Pete got on, and then I felt the straps holding my prick being refastened and my hobble being removed. Almost immediately I felt a massive tug on the reins which made my head jerk back and the bit dig into the side of my mouth. Although the bit acted as a sort of gag it couldn't suppress the cry of half surprise, half pain that this forced out of me.

"Easy, Mr. Hastings," Pete called out. "Softly, softly, that's the way with ponies. Now, let me walk him round for you."

Pete took hold of the reins just by the end of my bit and, still blindfolded by the blinkers, he led me forward. Seeing as how this Mr Hastings had such clout it was up to me to put on the best show I could. I made sure I stood up straight and made myself look as good as possible. All around I could hear the hustle and bustle of the centre circle and the excitement of a race in progress. However, I could feel from the way that Mr. Hastings was pulling on the reins that this was not enough for him. He really wanted to have me run and, in the end, that was what happened. 

I guess Mr. Mason must have organised it because they waited until the current race was over and then Pete led me to the entry to the course proper and opened up my blinkers. 

"One lap, not too fast and, for heaven's sake, don't tip him over," he whispered in my ear. He let go of my bridle and, with a flick of the reins, Mr. Hastings urged me out onto the course. He was a lot heavier and clumsier than Pete so I jogged rather than ran around the course but, even so, judging by the way he was jiggling the reined, Mr. Hastings was loving every second. I just wished that he wouldn't pull quite so hard; at least he didn't have a whip. I was also glad it was just the one lap before I could return to the centre circle where Mr. Hastings dismounted and Pete parked me up again.

After that Mr. Hastings disappeared with Mr. Mason and, for all that he had stroked my prick and I had run him around the course, I still hadn't set eyes on him. Indeed, apart from the fact that he was heavy, a little clumsy with the reins and seemed to enjoy being pulled around the course I knew next to nothing about him.

However, I didn't have too much time to wonder. With Mr Hastings out of the way I was called upon for three of the ad hoc races and, on each occasion, they were handicapped. I managed to win two of them but came second in the middle one, much to Mr H's delight. 

Eventually the racing was all over and, as the punters drifted off, we ponies were sent to the showers to get ready for the party. I could feel the tension within me rising. I was evidently going to have to entertain Mr. Hastings and, as yet, I knew nothing of his likes and dislikes. Although I should have been getting used to this I was increasingly apprehensive; Perhaps I was apprehensive because I was getting used to it. Still, there was absolutely nothing I could do to get out of it and it was in my best interests to make myself as agreeable as possible. It was time, once again, to become the randy little tart. 

While we were showering Jed came up to me and was all 'when are you going to suck my dick, then?' but, when he got close, he grabbed me round the neck and started wrestling me. I was wondering what had got into him when, under cover of this, he whispered urgently 'You've got Mr. Hastings, right? Use lube, lots of lube' just before the minibus driver told him to stop mucking about and leave me alone. I wondered what he was on about but it didn't bode well and I certainly wasn't going to ignore him. I made the excuse of wanting the bogs and, on the way, I grabbed a bottle of the lube they used for fitting the tails and made sure plenty of it was inside me.

With all this going on I was shivering as I got into the minibus to take us to the party. Of course, this could have been because, wearing only the shortest of silken shorts, it was a little chilly but I would be lying if I said that that was the only reason.

When we got there I was taken straight to where Mr. Hastings was being feted by, among others, Mr. Mason. As I had guessed from when I had pulled him around the track he was a big man, well over six foot and built like a boxer. But it was the look in his eyes that got to me. They were cold, steely, unfeeling. He was having fun at the party but there was no joy there, none whatsoever. He was obviously some sort of celebrity and I suppose I should have been honoured to be the one chosen to entertain him. He had me sit down beside him and I was handed a glass of champagne. 

"You look very sweet," he said to me.

"Why thank you," I replied.

"And yet Mr. Mason tells me that you're a horny little sex pot who will do anything for a bit of cock. Is that right?"

"I couldn't say, sir."

"Oh, I think you could. Mad for it, aren't you?"

"Yes, sir," I admitted, batting my eyelashes at him. It looked like he wanted me to play the whore so that was what I did.

"So, what do you like best?"

"I like big strong men like you."

"Do you, indeed. And what do you like big strong men to do to you?"

"Whatever you want, sir, whatever you want."

"Whatever I want, as long is it involves cock, eh?"

"Ooh, yes please sir." But I felt as if I were reading from a script. I just wanted to say and do whatever it took to keep the customer satisfied.

"You're right, Andy," Mr. Hastings said to Mr. Mason, "this one looks like butter wouldn't melt and talks all posh and everything but she's mad for it, just like you said."

"Wait till you see the video. Here, check this out."

Mr. Mason reached for a remote and a huge television that hung on the wall burst into life. He then pressed a few more buttons and I was a little shaken to see the stage at the club where Mr. Bothwick's party had been held. The music started and there, up on the screen, were Jed and I, doing our act. While Jed and I had done this again and again and again in rehearsal I had never actually seen how I looked. I always knew that Belinda Bombshell was a little tart but I had never realised just how much of one. I watched myself camp it up in silent horror.

Mind you, Mr. Hastings, and all the crew, were loving it. The more outrageous I became the more they whooped and cheered. I got lots of comments when I was bent over with Jed caning my backside and when we got to the bit where Jed was fucking me they couldn't get enough. I knew I had played Belinda Bombshell to the hilt, what I hadn't fully appreciated was exactly how much of a cheap whore she was.

And, when it was over, I may not have been in costume but I was still expected to be Belinda Bombshell, I was still expected to still be that cheap whore. After all, I had offered myself up to do anything Mr. Hastings wanted; wasn't that the action of a cheap whore? But there was no backing out now. I had been bought and sold, I had to play this one to the end.

"Oh, you do like cock, don't you? Can't get enough of it. I bet you can't wait to get one up you."

I just tried a bashful look but Mr. Hastings wasn't having any of it.

"I asked you a question, cunt, do you like cock or don't you?"

"Ooh, I love a big strong cock," I simpered. 

"I bet you do. Do you see Gaz over there," he pointed to one of the guys. "Go over and ask him if he's got a big strong cock."

'Here we go,' I thought to myself as I slipped off the sofa and went to stand in front of Gaz who looked up at me.

"Please, Mr Gaz, sir, have you got a big strong cock?"

"And what's it to you if I have?"

"Because I love a bit of cock. There's nothing gets me going like a big strong stiff one." This, at least, got a round of laughter.

I could see that Gaz was a little uncertain and he kept glancing towards Mr. Hastings but, after a moment or two he undid his flies and pulled out his prick. It was still pretty flaccid.

"Ooh, that's a nice one You have got a big strong cock. Shall I see if I can make it a little stiffer for you." I knelt down in front of him and took his prick in my hands, gently stroking it, feeling it growing, feeling it come to life.

"That's nice, Mr Gaz. I bet you can please all the girls with a cock like that. Let's put his little coat on and then we can play properly." I reached behind me for the bowl of condoms on the coffee table and, with a movement that I was getting all too practiced at, opened up the packet, took out the condom and slipped it over him.

"Go on, Gaz, let's see you fuck the little tart," Mr. Hastings called over.

"Yes, please, Mr Gaz, please fuck me." This was obviously what Mr. Hastings was after; this was how I was to earn my money. I now understood why Jed had urged me to get lubed up.

"Here, this will help," Mr. Mason added. 

With my hand still around Gaz's prick I turned to see what would help and, as I did so my heart sunk. Under Mr. Mason's instructions, two waitresses were bringing over a black leather pouffe. But it wasn't that which disturbed me, it was the straps that were attached at either side. I wasn't just to be bent over it, I was to be strapped down as well. The coffee table was moved to one side, the pouffe was placed in the middle of the group, I was positioned over it and the straps were tightened, holding my upper arms and thighs in place.

I felt Gaz kneel down on the floor behind me and, with a vicious tug, he ripped away the flimsy material of my shorts. 

"Look at me," Mr. Hastings ordered and, although I had to crane my neck, as Gaz forced his way inside, that was what I did. Now I knew exactly what he was after. Just like Mr. Bothwick he wanted to see me degraded, he wanted to watch me suffer. I was the fly from which he had torn off the wings and now he wanted to see me squirm. 

He certainly got his money's worth. It wasn't just that Gaz was far from gentle. I had reached the point where all delusion had been stripped away. I wasn't just playing the cheap whore, that was exactly what I was and my complete and utter degradation was now a performance for Mr. Hastings's amusement.

It didn't take long before Gaz had finished but that didn't mean that I was finished, far from. The others took their turn, either voluntarily or on Mr. Hastings's suggestion, a suggestion that was obviously taken as an order. It wasn't constant but the breaks between were never really long enough and it just went on and on and on. Fucking the tart was now just another amusement for them, along with the lines of coke and glasses of champagne. It didn't take long before I was pretty sore but that didn't stop them, why would it? Furthermore it seemed that, although he wanted to watch me suffer, my cries of pain were deemed distracting so I was fitted with a ball gag to keep me quiet.

And all the while Mr. Hastings just watched. 

At last it was over, the party was breaking up and people were drifting off. Just as Mr. Jarman had done Mr Hastings told his lads to go on ahead and he would catch them up. He waited until we were alone before standing up and unbuttoned his fly. I assumed that he was going to fuck me as well but no, he stood over me, masturbating. 

"Look up, tart, look up."

With his free hand he grabbed me by the hair and yanked my head back just in time for the great gobbets of semen that erupted from him to splash all over my face. Finally sated he let me go and my head dropped; I felt used, humiliated, crushed.

"Come on Sam, the car's waiting," Mr. Mason called out.

"On my way, Andy, on my way."

And, with that, he left.



Pony Boy Ch. 06



New readers – don't start here!

This is chapter six of Pony Boy. My apologies for the long wait. It won't make too much sense unless you've read the rest so, if you're new to this story then I strongly recommend you find chapter one and start there.

Usual stuff – we're all fictional and over eighteen.

******* 

I didn't move, I couldn't move, nor could I call out for help. My jaw ached from the gag, my limbs ached from the straps that held them and, as for my arse, it was sore beyond belief. All I could do was stay there and wait for someone to release me. A couple of drunken guests staggered by and one of them commented on how my upended arse was just waiting to be fucked. He had his pants halfway down and his prick out before his mate insisted that someone called Frank was waiting for them and, if they didn't leave immediately, they'd miss their lift. Reluctantly he zipped himself up and left.

When it comes to realising exactly how gullible you have been there can be few bigger wake up calls than finding yourself strapped over a pouffe, your arse open and available to any that should want it, while another man's semen drips slowly down your face. I had thought myself so daring; it had felt so grown up to walk on the wild side but this brought home to me, more than ever before, just how far out of my depth I was. When he had first taken me on board Mr. Mason had seemed kind, fatherly, a protector from the violence around me. Now I was finding out that he was the one responsible for delivering me up to this violence. 

In the end it was one of the waitresses who, as part of her tidying up, undid my arms leaving me to unstrap my thighs and take off the gag. It seemed that freeing the rent boy was as normal as collecting the glasses. I was stiff in every joint and barely able to stand but I managed to stagger to the nearest washroom where I rinsed off my face. The water was cool and fresh but it couldn't wash clean the memories. The face that stared back from the mirror was that of a scared little boy who just wanted to run back to mummy and have her make it all better. Still, it was time to get dressed and go home. I went back to the kitchen and found the bag containing my clothes.

When I got back to my room I stashed my takings for the night and collapsed on the bed, hiding under the covers, hoping it would just all go away. It was Friday, I was due down at the gym but I simply couldn't do it. I simply couldn't find the energy. I closed my eyes for just a minute, just one minute....

"Good morning!"

Suddenly my world was a maelstrom, the mattress heaved beneath me and I was tumbling, falling, crashing to the ground. 

"Wakey, wakey! Up you get Ben. Can't have you lying in bed all day. That would never do."

I shook the sleep from my eyes to find myself lying on the floor with my mattress and bedding piled on top of me. All I could see from under the covers were two pairs of shoes. I pushed the covers back and there was Mr. Mason staring down at me. There was a crash from the other side of the room and I looked across and saw Archie rummaging about in my wardrobe, a growing pile of my clothes on the floor behind him.

"I missed seeing you at the gym this morning so Archie and I decided to drop round and give you a little visit, make sure you're OK. Are you OK?"

"Yes, Mr. Mason, just a little tired."

"Just a little tired? So why weren't you at gym this morning?"

"I... I overslept."

"He says he overslept," Mr. Mason said to Archie. "Do you think he overslept?"

"I think he's a lazy little runt who needs a good slapping."

"When you work for me you don't fucking oversleep, get it!"

"Yes, Mr. Mason, of course, Mr. Mason."

"So why weren't you down at the gym?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Mason, I fucked up." That seemed to be the easiest answer.

"If you work for me you don't fuck up either. You do what you're told, when you're told. You're mine, now. You belong to me now. Got that? Who do you belong to?"

"I belong to you." 

"Well, don't you fucking forget it."

Archie had moved on from my wardrobe to my chest of drawers and the contents of that were joining the heap in the middle of the floor.

"Please, Mr. Mason, I'm sorry. I won't do it again. Please, please not my coursework!" I pleaded. Archie was now taking my files and folders and adding them to the ever growing heap.

"If you fuck up ever again then it won't be your coursework that you're worried about. You fuck up and I fuck you up. The only reason I'm stopping Archie from giving your scrawny little arse the slapping it deserves is because I need you fit for work this afternoon. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Mr. Mason, completely clear."

Archie had reached for a can of petrol from next to the door. He opened it and splashed petrol all over the pile. Then he pulled out a zippo and flicked it into life.

"Please! Please!" I screamed. "Please, I'll be good. Really I will."

"Make fucking sure you are. Next time he'll light it. Come on, Archie."

Archie put the top back on the zippo, picked up the can and followed Mr. Mason out of my room.

Shaking like a leaf I went over to the pile of my possessions and started to look through it. Although Archie had splashed petrol about pretty liberally there was still a certain amount that had escaped and, by carefully separating it out, I could find enough clothes to wear and salvage the bulk of my coursework. I bundled the rest of my clothes into black bin bags. It looked like I was going to spend most of Saturday down at the laundrette. As I put the wearable stuff back in the wardrobe I saw both the Belinda Bombshell costume and the smart clothes that Mr. Mason had bought for me still hanging there untouched. Archie's mindless violence with my possessions hadn't been that mindless after all.

I was still shaking when my phone pinged announcing that I had just received a text. I opened it up and read that I was expected at the normal meeting point at one thirty for the outdoor pony racing. My heart sunk. I was exhausted and my backside was still pretty sore and, in a couple of hours time, I would have to do it all again. One thing was for certain, whatever my doubts and uncertainties, I would be there. There was no way I was going to risk upsetting Mr. Mason again.

When I got to the meeting point I was the only one there. However, when the minibus arrived, Carl, Rog and Al were already on board and after picking up Jed and Tim at the next stop we set off up the motorway. It would appear that there were only to be six of us on this little jaunt. 

It was maybe an hour later that the minibus finally pulled up and, when we got out, I could see that we were at some sort of stables. I couldn't be sure but, if I had to guess, I would say we were somewhere out Newmarket way. We were led into the main stable block and told to strip down to just our trainers. Our clothes were bagged up in the usual way and, as there were no showers as with the Thursday night racing, we were led directly away and each assigned to a stall. 

I stood there shivering slightly. It was quite cool but that wasn't the only reason. I'd lost the taste, the enthusiasm and I wasn't looking forward to whatever they had in store for me.

"All right, my young mucker. I do hope I find you bright eyed and bushy tailed and all ready for an afternoon's racing. It's time to get you all nicely harnessed up and ready for the gentlemen."

I turned to see Pete, my jockey, opening the door to the stall. Having a familiar face around made me feel a little better. Over his arm he had a bundle of leather strapping which, unsurprisingly, turned out to be my harness and bridle. He hung up the harness on a peg, turned to me and started to fit my bridle. He barely had the rubber bit between my teeth before he closed the blinkers and attached the reins. I found out why when I was gently tugged to one side and, from the feel of things, the reins were tied off. I assumed that my harness would come next but, instead, he fitted me with some sort of gloves, or rather, he had me ball my fists and then covered them with leather bags which fastened with straps around my wrists. My arms were still free but I was unable to use my hands.

He then set to with the posing oil. Whatever my qualms about what I was doing, that would always feel good. I loved the feel of his hands massaging the oil into me. I loved the way that every inch was covered. I loved knowing that, when he had finished, my body was looking at its very best. I was still scared and apprehensive but that didn't stop my prick from hardening as he rubbed the oil over me.

When I was oiled all over Pete pulled my hands behind my back and clipped my gloves together to hold them there. He then fitted the harness. It wasn't the same as the one we used for racing. Naturally there was a tail and, naturally, there was a plug that filled my backside but, beyond that, it was little more than some sort of 'g' string. In particular my prick was left free and not strapped up as with racing. And that was it; nothing around my chest or over my shoulders. The 'g' string was all of it. He gave my backside a friendly smack and then left me to my own devices.

There was a bit of a wait and all I could do was stand there, held in place by the way my reins were tied off. Any movement of my head risked being pulled up short by the reins and, even though the bit was rubber, that could be quite painful. I could hear the sounds of people moving around the stables but nothing that I could identify. But this all changed when I heard the sounds of a group of people entering the stables, chatting to each other. I couldn't make out the details but they seemed to be going from stall to stall, checking out the ponies. All the time they were getting closer.

Suddenly the voices were very close indeed. It was me they were looking at. Just as with Thursday nights I was discussed in terms of livestock, how fit I looked, whether I would be good at racing. Unseen hands felt my legs, my buttocks and played with my prick. Pete must have been with them because he was asked to unfasten my reins and lead me back and forth. 

"I'd like to have a look at how he does in the training ring." 

"Of course. Pete?"

Still blindfolded I was led out of my stall and into what, by the feel of the wind on my body, was the outside. At first there was a hard surface underfoot but that soon changed to something softer, presumably grass. We had reached the paddock. I was told to 'stand', the blinkers were opened and I felt the reins pulling to one side.

"Walk on!" the order was reinforced by something flicking against my backside. I set off and immediately found myself being hit by a barrage of instructions. Hold my head up, stand up straighter, lift my knees higher, faster, slower. Each instruction, like the first, was accompanied by something being flicked against my backside.

As I walked, or ran, the tug on the reins kept me going in a circle. I was no great equestrian expert but I knew enough to know this is a method they use to train real ponies. As I went round I could see that I was being watched by a group of four men. One I recognised as Mr. Mason but the other three were strangers. Additionally, over at the edge of the paddock, were three of the 'ponies' tied up to the rail while their jockeys sat on the fence, also watching.

Eventually I was brought to a standstill but my 'training' was far from over. One of the watchers, I nicknamed him 'fat guy', wanted a go. As he walked to the centre of the circle I took the opportunity to glance over. Pete was standing about ten feet away, holding the other end of the reins and, in his other hand, a long carriage whip. That had been what I had felt against my backside. 'Fat guy' took over and, at first, Pete stood next to him.

'Fat guy' was far less expert with the whip and far more eager to use it. Ironically this was distracting rather then encouraging. It's hard to concentrate on your gait when someone is constantly flicking a whip at your backside and, as often as not, hitting your legs by mistake. 

After 'fat guy' one of the others wanted a go and, after him, yet another and, by the time they had finished, my backside was quite warm and my mouth was sore from all the pulling on the bit. I was also quite exhausted so I was glad when I was led over to the side of the paddock, next to the other ponies and, like them, my reins were tied to the rail. It was time for the next pony to be brought out for training.

The next one out was Carl. When it came to the racing I knew I was the fittest and, in the long run, the fastest. However, this wasn't about speed or stamina; it was about presentation and Carl was, quite frankly, a lot better than I was. What's more, although I know that the thing about black guys having huge pricks is all bollocks no one seemed to have told Carl that and, as he pranced around the circle his prick flopped about in front of him in a very appealing fashion. If, as Mr. H had suggested, he were to join in with Jed and I in the Belinda Bombshell show I assumed he would end up fucking me and, if so, I wondered what it would feel like to have a monster like that inside me. I hadn't really got to know the guy, indeed, the only one I had really had time to talk to was Jed, but it looked like I would be getting to know him a whole lot better in the near future.

When the 'training' was over and all six ponies were now tied to the paddock rail there was a certain amount of chat as they split us up into three pairs. They had us stand next to each other; again this was an aesthetic, not athletic thing. In the end Carl and I were paired together and our respective jockeys led us back to the stables. 

Here we were hitched up to a two wheeled buggy. It was a bit bigger than the sulkies we used for racing, the frame was much wider, a lot more solid and the single bicycle seat had been replaced by a bench seat that could take two. However, the biggest difference was that the two shafts on the sulky had been replaced by a single shaft with a crossbar so that it could take a pair of ponies, one either side. Attached to this crossbar were wide leather belts that went around our chest and, once the spiderweb of strapping was unknotted and the various clips and buckles fastened we were firmly yoked to the buggy. 

While Pete held us steady 'fat guy' and Kev, Carl's jockey, got into the buggy. Fortunately it was pretty well balanced and, although we were taking a certain amount of weight on the crossbar, it was still reasonably comfortable. The reins were passed back to whoever was driving and we were off.

Because there was practically no give between the harness and the crossbar it immediately became apparent that Carl and I were going to have to move very much in unison. Any clumsiness resulted in painful tugs from the harness, not to mention complaints from those driving.

It also quickly transpired that it was 'fat guy' who was holding the reins as I could hear a constant stream of suggestions from Kev as he advised 'fat guy' on how to use them along with the carriage whip. In the meanwhile Carl and I were reprimanded for not keeping in step, for not moving in unison, for not keeping our heads up, for not being perfect.

After a while it settled down and we were doing laps of the stable yard quite smoothly. The other ponies had also been paired up and it wasn't long before we had three buggies chasing each other around the yard. Mr. Mason and the three other jockeys stood in the middle and watched.

Once 'fat guy' and his friends were deemed up to speed with controlling the buggies we all stopped, the jockeys got out, and they were left to control us on their own. Immediately the reduction in weight made life easier and, as 'fat guy' had trouble using the reins and the whip at the same time, it was easier on the backside as well.

After ten minutes or so we were deemed ready for racing. We were taken out of the yard, past the training paddock and onto the track. As we approached my heart sunk. This was not going to be easy. It was going to be far harder to pull the buggy over the grass than the paved areas and the track seemed to disappear off into the distance. What is more, when racing on Thursday nights, a certain amount of trust had developed between Pete and myself and we could work together as a team. Carl and I had only been together a few minutes and 'fat guy' was a complete amateur as a jockey. 

Mr. Mason acted as the starter. We were lined up on the start line, he took out a white handkerchief as a flag which he held up high, then dropped and we were off.

If I had been on my own I would have sat back a bit, let the others do the running, and use my greater stamina to overhaul them at the end. 'fat guy' was having none of this. He wanted to be out front from the off. The others, of course, had the same idea and for the first hundred yards or so the three buggies were neck and neck. It was hard to keep the rhythm pulling this hard and Carl and I lost our co-ordination letting Jed and Tim, or rather Dark Arrow and Thunderbolt, take the lead.

This enraged 'fat guy' and he was going crazy as he urged us on. I just wanted to tell him to calm down. There was a long way to go yet and tucked in behind Dark Arrow and Thunderbolt was fine until the last furlong when we could take them. As it was I was spending all my energy trying to find a rhythm with Carl so that we could work together, not fight each other.

The next stretch was a long uphill pull which slowed us all down and we seemed to find a natural order: Dark Arrow and Thunderbolt out front, Carl and myself next with Al and Rog just behind us. Gradually 'fat guy' began to realise that we were not falling back so he started to calm down and, as he did so, Carl and I began to work together. I think Carl picked up on the fact that I didn't want to go too soon and that, by hanging back a bit, we would be stronger in the end. Like myself, he seemed to be ignoring, as far as possible, 'fat guy''s instructions and was trying to work with me as a team.

And then, all of a sudden, it just happened. Everything got a lot easier. Carl and I found our rhythm and we were moving together, not just in stride, but jogging as one. The crossbar stopped thumping me in the chest and I could work on a steady push. This gave us a burst of speed and, as we crested the hill, so we pulled past Dark Arrow and Thunderbolt.

Now it was downhill and we were running free. If anything the difficulty was stopping the buggy from running away from us. I just knew we were putting quite a bit of ground between ourselves and the others. 

The course flattened out and we settled down again. I could hear that Carl was beginning to suffer from being a smoker. He was breathing quite heavily and, if we tried to keep running at full speed there was a danger he would collapse before the finish post. Because of this we eased back, went from a run to a jog.

We almost over did it. With the blinkers we couldn't see behind us and we were all but ignoring 'fat guy' as we knew far more about racing than he did. We were just passing the last furlong marker when we became aware of the commotion beside us. Dark Arrow and Thunderbolt were overtaking! 'Fat guy' was going mental and we knew that we would suffer if we lost, not to mention a certain amount of pride in ourselves. We pushed back into top gear and, giving it everything we had, powered on towards the finish line. 

I could feel Carl suffering beside me. He barely had the stamina to keep on running but Jed and Tim were smokers as well; they too were feeling the pace. There was only a hundred yards left to go, fifty, forty, twenty, ten... and still holding them off by half a length, we crossed the line. 

'fat guy' was delighted. While we ponies all but collapsed, well, as far as the harness would let us, he jumped out of the buggy and crowed it over the others. Apparently there had been some considerable betting involved and he was busy collecting his winnings. Once he had done that he jumped back in the buggy and had us run him around the paddock for a while. Fortunately for Carl he wasn't bothered about speed. He just wanted to have a celebratory drive.




Pony Boy Ch. 06



It seemed ages before we were taken back to the stables where 'fat guy' got out and we were unhitched from the buggy. The blinkers were closed off and we were led back inside to our stalls where, still blindfolded, I was fastened in place by the reins.

As I stood there waiting I could hear the swish-thwack of what sounded like a riding crop and the associated half muffled cries of pain. I guessed that one of the losing ponies was paying for their slowness, or maybe it was just one of the punters getting his kicks. Then I heard someone coming into the stall. With very little pre-amble my reins were unfastened, I was led to the centre of the stall where I was bent forward over something solid and around waist height. The reins were tied off in such a way as to stop me from standing up again. My ankles were pulled apart and something fitted around them to keep them that way. Finally, the straps at the back of the 'G' string harness were undone and the plug removed from my arse. 

"There you go, Mr Robbins," I heard Pete say. "He's all ready for you. I'll leave you to it."

I guessed that Mr Robbins was 'fat guy'. He had evidently paid for a pony boy session and this was part of the package. Still, the plug from the tail had left me open and lubed up and, when he came up behind me and started to shove his prick up my backside I was ready for him.

He wasn't too bad. At least he wasn't rough, nor was he particularly well endowed so he wasn't too hard on my battered anus. But there was no passion, no connection. For all that it would have hurt more I would somehow have preferred to have been half raped by Herr Schlick or Mr. Bothwick than this soulless rubbing back and forth. At least he didn't last long. He had hardly started before he grunted and with one last push, shot his load.

And then he was gone and I was, once again, left, tied up, bent over and with my arse wide open, ready and available.

It seemed like they left me there for ages. I could hear noises as people moved around the stables and Mr Robbins and his friends were getting louder and louder as they enjoyed using the ponies. Even when they left and the stables went quiet it was still quite a while before I was finally released and freed from my pony gear. I went and found the other five ponies and, together, we got dressed and ready to be run back into town.

When I got back home the place reeked of petrol but I was too exhausted to do anything about it. I promised myself that I would spend all of Saturday down at the laundrette but, right then, I really needed a bite to eat and relaxing pint so I sorted out a change of clothes and headed off to the bar taking in a fish supper from the chippie on the way.

I had barely got there and was still only half way down my first pint when I received a text on my phone. I hauled it out and had a look. All it said was 'Car pick up 10:30. Dress smart.'

My heart sank. Was this some sort of punishment for oversleeping? One thing was for certain, after the morning's events, I wasn't going to refuse however much it wasn't what I wanted. I made my excuses to the guys and headed back to my room.

I had just enough time to take a quick shower and spruce myself up a bit before the car arrived at ten thirty on the dot. When I got in I found I wasn't the only one. Carl had already been picked up and, after a while, we picked up Jed as well. 

Then we were all whisked down to the West End where we were let in the back entrance of some sort of private gambling club. We were led through the kitchens and out onto the gaming floor where Mr Robbins and his friends were playing roulette at a table that had been reserved for them. Mr. Mason was busy being mine host and glad handing them all. We were waved over. Once again it was time to earn our pay.

Now I think that roulette is an idiot's game, you're betting thirty-six to one on thirty-seven to one odds but Mr Robbins and his friends were having a rare old time and betting serious money on each spin of the wheel. It was quite easy to see what our job was. We were there to jolly them along and encourage them to bet more. 

I watched Jed; he and Carl had so much more experience of all this. While neither of them were quite the coquette I tend to be, they were both playing up to the punters, egging them on. Telling them how wonderful they were. And then Carl persuaded Mr Malinder, one of Mr Robbins' friends to put quite a bit on twenty seven and it came home. Suddenly Carl was flavour of the month and, although his guesses after that were no better than random, he was now Mr Malinder's lucky mascot. 

A few minutes later Mr. Mason came up behind me and said softly 'eighteen'. OK, so the wheel was fixed. Now I knew. However, Mr Robbins and his friends didn't have a clue. Indeed, with the amount they were drinking they probably didn't even know what day it was.

"Ooh, Mr Robbins," I simpered. "Why don't you try eighteen? Same as my age, that will be lucky."

He put his arm around my waist and leered at me.

"Go on then, why don't you put the chips on for me."

I took some chips off his stack and leant forward to reach the eighteen box. As I did so I felt his hand feeling up my backside. Still, this was all part of the game and if I was keeping the customer satisfied then Mr. Mason would be happy and, if Mr. Mason was happy, then I was safe from Archie and his zippo.

"Les jeux sont fait," the croupier spun the wheel and flicked in the little white ball. All eyes were on the wheel but Mr Robbins hand was all over my arse and giving me a good old feel. 

"Ooh, you little darling! Get in there!" he cried out as, inevitably, the ball fell into number eighteen.

Now Mr Robbins, like Mr Malinder, felt he couldn't go wrong as long as he followed his lucky mascot. They were piling on the chips and, of course, slowly but steadily losing. Meanwhile they were being plied with drinks so they hardly noticed how they were getting fleeced. As far as they were concerned they each had their lucky mascot. How could it go wrong?

It was three in the morning when, finally, they had had enough. Taxis were ordered and we were all taken back to the hotel. Mr Robbins was playing the big shot and he was all over me in the back of the taxi. We piled out and staggered into the lobby of the hotel. There was a certain amount of 'how's about one more before bed' but the night porter regretfully explained that the bar was closed. Mr Robbins then insisted that we all go up to his suite where he had a bottle of whisky.

As soon as we got into the lift he was, once again, giving me a good old grope but it was nothing compared with Mr Malinder who had pulled down Carl's trousers and boxers and then stood behind him, putting his left arm around Carl's chest and reaching down with his right to put his hand around Carl's prick. He was waving it about and, treating it as some sort of puppet, doing the old 'what do you think of the show so far' routine. They all found this hilarious and, of course, in no time they were joining in, pulling down our trousers, holding us in a similar fashion and playing games with our pricks.

When we got to the top floor and the lift door opened, Mr Hall, the punter who Jed was looking after, used his grip around Jed's prick to, as he put it, 'ride' him out and into the corridor, although, as Jed was effectively hobbled by his trousers, they couldn't move very fast. Mr Malinder and Mr Robbins followed suite and, as Mr Robbins pulled me into him I could feel him rubbing himself against my arse. Halfway down the corridor Mr Robbins got it into his head to have what he announced as a 'pork sword fight' where each punter took hold of his respective pony's prick and used it as a 'sword', slapping it back and forth against the pricks of the other ponies. This caused much merriment and delay and it seemed to take forever to get to the room. What with one thing and another I was surprised we didn't wake up the whole hotel.

When we finally got to Mr Robbins suite the three punters finally let go of us and slumped down into the armchairs arranged in the lounge area. I noticed that Carl and Jed, rather than pulling their trousers up, were busy kicking off their shoes and socks and stepping out of their them so I did the same and, by the time we joined the punters in the lounge, we were all three completely naked. Carl and Jed each sat on lap of their respective punter and I was despatched to serve the whisky and sodas before I too took my place on Mr Robbins' lap.

And then the conversation got onto prick sizes, ours, of course, not theirs. Naturally no one had a ruler but Mr Robbins had me fetch a piece of note paper from beside the phone and this was laid along our pricks and marked with where we stretched to. As ever, it got very competitive and each punter was out to make sure his pony was as hard as possible so there was a fair amount of wanking going on as well.

Carl was the winner by quite a bit. Then Jed, and, yes, I drew the short straw. There was bugger all difference between Jed and I but, by the way they were making a fuss about it, you would think I had only a toothpick when compared to Jed's log. All I could do was join in as the jokes made at my expense came thick and fast.

"Who gives a fuck about that little girl's prick," Jed commented. "When I'm buried to the hilt up his tight little arsehole it's the size of my prick that counts not his."

"So, you fuck him, do you?"

"Whenever I can."

"And what about you, Carl, do you fuck him as well?"

"Haven't had the chance yet, Jed's always in the way!" This caused paroxysms of mirth.

"But you would if you could."

"Too right I would."

"So why don't you. Right now. That's if Jed doesn't mind."

"Mind, why should I mind? Specially if Ben were to suck me off at the same time."

"Great idea! Go on then."

"Where would you like us to...?"

"Right here will do. Move that coffee table out of the way and do it on the carpet."

While Jed and Carl were moving the coffee table I went to my jacket and got out the condoms that were part and parcel of dressing for a night out nowadays. When I got back Jed was sat on the floor with his legs apart leaning back against Mr Hall's knees. I passed one of the condoms to Carl, unwrapped the other, got down on my hands and knees and fitted it over Jed's prick.

At first it was a bit like trying to pat your head and rub your stomach at the same time. It was hard to concentrate on giving Jed a blow job while Carl was busy shoving his prick my arse. Every time he pushed I was in danger of gagging on Jed's prick. Fortunately Carl was taking it easy. I had lubed myself up before I had left but that had been hours ago and Carl's generous size was going to take some getting used to.

And then we found our rhythm. I don't know what it was like to watch but, after the brutality of what was normally meted out to me, Carl felt really good inside me. He took long, slow strokes and I could feel every inch of him deep, deep inside me. The punters certainly seemed to love it, cheering and jeering, egging us on. I could tell that Carl was giving them a show, making the most of it so I joined in, making a show of how much I too was loving it. I couldn't do too much, of course, with my face buried in Jed's lap, but I was pushing back and wiggling my arse around, much to the merriment of the onlookers.

At the other end I wasn't ignoring Jed. Rather than just sucking at him I ran my tongue up and down Jed's prick for a while and, while I was doing so, managed to glance sideways. Mr Robbins was staring intently and stroking himself through his trousers.

And then Carl started to up the pace. There was a new urgency about his actions. I could tell he was close to coming. If the show were to go perfectly then Jed would have to come at the same time. This probably wouldn't happen and I hoped he had the sense to fake it. I now had him deep in my mouth and he was fucking my face almost as urgently as Carl was fucking my arse.

Carl started grunting and moaning. Jed joined in.

"I'm close, Jed, very close," Carl called out.

"Me too, me too, count us in."

"Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, ooh four, three, two, one, fuck yes, fuck, fuck, oh yes...." With the cheers of the punters filling the room Carl buried himself all the way inside me, his hips hard against my arse as the spunk spurted from within him. I love that feeling; I love the feeling when a man comes inside me. I just wish we didn't have to wear condoms.

And, as I had hoped, Jed had the sense to fake coming at the same time. The two of them slumped over and, for a moment, there was a pause as we all got our breath back. Then Carl slipped out of my backside and, one by one, we got up and returned to our respective punters.

"Well, Ben, what was it like being fucked by a nigger?" Mr Robbins asked. "Like a bit of jungle juice, do you? Did it turn you on having his big black prick inside you?"

"Oh yes...." I had to swallow back my disgust at Mr Robbin's overt racism. "I like a big black cock. I think they're dead sexy." I snuggled up to him so I could whisper in his ear. 

"Ooh, it was nice being fucked by Carl but I'd rather be fucked by you. I loved it when you were at the reins, taking control. I'd do anything for a big strong sexy man like you, anything at all. What would you like? What's your special thing? What would you like me to do?"

Part of me was sickened by what I was doing but I now knew I had little choice and the only way to survive was to play the coquette, the one that had got me through so far.

"Anything at all?" Mr Robbins queried.

"For you, sir, anything."

"I think it's time I took this one to bed, showed him what it's like to be really fucked," Mr Robbins announced. 

Now that they'd had their show the others were in full agreement and couldn't wait to leave. Jed and Carl picked up their discarded clothes but didn't put them on as the followed their respective punters of out into the corridor. I hoped for their sakes that they didn't have far to go. Or maybe the hotel turned a blind eye to naked young men running about in the corridors at night.

Mr Robbins wasn't messing around either. I was hauled off to bed where he tore off his clothes and, in a cloud of whisky fumes, climbed on top of me. However, in the end, he was too drunk to do anything about it and we ended up just cuddling before he passed out in a drunken stupor.

In the morning Mr Robbins was too hungover to do much so, apart from demanding a quick blow job, he mostly left me alone. I told him how virile he had been and what a wonderful night I had had which made him feel better, Mind you, long before there was any sign of breakfast, I was told to get dressed and go. I wanted a shower but, apparently, that wasn't on the cards. I went downstairs to the lobby and, as luck would have it, met Jed who had also just been dismissed. Apparently the three punters were due to meet for breakfast and we ponies weren't invited. As such it was worth waiting the few moments until Carl arrived. 

The three of us shared a taxi back to east London. Carl was the first to be dropped off which left Jed and I alone in the back of the taxi.

"So, how did you like getting fucked by Carl? You certainly seemed to be enjoying it, you little tart." 

"I was OK. Better than OK, he's pretty good."

"Better than me?"

"Jed!"

"Well, is he?"

"Please, Jed, that's a stupid question. It's not like that. You know it's not like that."

"What, with him or with me?"

"With him. It was a sex show for the punters, nothing more, nothing less."

"Yeah, but that's all it is with me as well."

"But Jed...."

"But Jed what?"

I didn't know how to reply, what to say.

"Fucking tart," Jed snarled and turned to stare out of the window.

We sat in stony silence. What on earth had got into him?

The taxi pulled up outside the block of flats where Jed lived. I had things to do but they weren't as important as the atmosphere in the taxi. I told the driver to wait a moment.

"So this is it. Fortress Jed, do you ever let anyone else in?"

"What are you on about?"

"Offer me a cup of coffee."

"Why?"

"Please, Jed, just offer me a cup of coffee. I assume Fortress Jed stretches to a cup of coffee."

"OK then, would you like to come up for a cup of coffee?"

"I'd love to."

We paid off the taxi and made our way over to the tower block. The lift didn't work and it was quite a way up to Jed's flat but we made it in the end. The door looked particularly solid. Fortress Jed, indeed, but once we got past the door the actual flat was clean and tidy. He went through to the kitchen and put the kettle on. I went up behind him and put my arms around him.

"It wasn't actually coffee that I was after."

He switched the kettle off.

"You need a shower," he said rather gruffly. "I'll show you where it is."

He led me to his tiny bathroom and watched while I undressed. Then he showed me the shower arrangement over the bath and how to adjust the taps and arrange plastic curtain so as not to flood the place. Then, to my disappointment, he left. That wasn't the plan at all. Feeling gutted I played with the taps until I had got a nice warm flow, stepped into the bath and closed the curtains. I was just relaxing, feeling the soap suds wash over my body when the curtain opened and there was Jed.

I let him take control. That's what he wanted; that's what I wanted. Under the shower he was just washing me, head to toe, every nook and cranny. Of course, when he soaped my prick it was as hard as iron but then, so was his. It's just that he was in no hurry to do anything about it. And then the water started to run cold so it was time to rinse off and get out. He passed me a towel and we rubbed each other down. 

"Better?"

"Yes, Jed, thanks."

"Well, come along then."

He took me through to his bedroom and lay me down on his bed. He got in beside me and the bed was so narrow that it was a bit of a squeeze but didn't matter in the slightest. This was so, so very different than anything that had ever happened to me before. He put his left arm around under my shoulders and, with his other, reached down and put his hand around my prick. Gently he stroked it up and down. 

"Please, Jed...," I started.

"Shut it! You don't move and you don't say a word. Got it?"

I just nodded.

And there, in his bed, rough, tough Jed showed me his softer side. He was still strong, manly, in control, but that was what I wanted. I could feel the power of his desire, his need and I knew that it was me he desired and needed. His fingers on my prick felt so fine, so very fine, and I wanted to return the favour but that's not what he wanted. I was his, his to control, his to own.

He laid me on my back and ordered me to reach up and grab the rails of the headboard. With my arms above my head like that I felt open, vulnerable. He knelt between my legs and lifted my knees, higher and higher, and then reached for the lube. This was not the first time he had lubed my arse but there was something special about this time. I wanted to be open, ready for him. When I was ready he wiped his hand, reached for a condom, and slipped it on. Then he lifted my knees even higher, and looking me straight in the eye, I felt him push against me.

'Oh please, please, Jed, yes, take me, take me, I want to be yours, to feel you deep inside me. Take me Jed, don't ask, just take.' But I didn't say a word and neither did he. I knew that was the way he wanted it. I still couldn't prevent a groan of pleasure escaping as, smooth as silk, he slid inside me. 'Oh, yes, Jed, yes!'

He reached down between us and, as his prick slid slowly in and out of my arse, so he matched the rhythm with his fist tight around my prick. 

And still his eyes locked onto mine. The punters had never wanted to see my face. Oh so often I was just an upturned arse, a hole to be plundered, a cipher, a nothing. Even Mr. Bothwick, who had forced me to look in the mirror, had only been interested in making me see my own degradation. He hadn't been interested in me.




Pony Boy Ch. 06



Jed, on the other hand, seemed to want to look right down into the depths of my soul. How wrong had I been about him! How foolish, how stupid! Talk about jumping to conclusions; I had written him off as this thug, this thing from the gutter, but, now that I had got to know him, I could see how much more of a man he was than me. Take me, Jed, take me, take me home and save me.

I could feel Jed starting to come; I could feel myself starting to come. He was pounding into me, driving himself as deep as he could go and even so I wanted more, please, more, Jed, more, just a little, please Jed, oh, Jed, oh, Jed, oh Jed!

As Jed exploded in my arse so I too exploded, my come shooting out of me, all over my chest. For two, three, four last strokes he milked every last drop before we collapsed together in an exhausted heap.

"Here, mop yourself up," Jed said as he handed me a box of tissues. "I'll go and make the coffee."

Once I had got myself cleaned up I got out of bed, found my panties and put them on. I could hear noises coming from the kitchen so I went through to find Jed who was now wearing a dressing gown. The kettle had just boiled and, as I watched, he made two mugs of coffee. He picked them up and I followed him through into the lounge.

"What's with you and those fucking panties," he asked as he sat on the sofa. 

"I... I just like wearing them."

"You do, don't you. Kinky little perve. What about the rest of the Belinda get up? Does that turn you on as well?"

"I'm not quite as big a fan of Belinda's as I used to be," I replied ruefully. "It was fun at first but...."

"But it lost something when you found out that you've ended up as the fuck toy of every gangster in East London."

"Something like that. We're going to have to do it all again tonight. I'm not sure how much more of this I can take."

"You'll take whatever Mr. Mason tells you to take and you'll keep on taking it for as long as you're earning him money. He was making a fortune out of you as a pony boy and now that he's got Belinda fucking Bombshell he'll make even more."

"I wish I'd never...."

"You wish you'd never what?" Jed snarled at me. "Get real Ben, you are what you are and no amount of self pity is going to change one bit of it. We all have our 'wish I'd never' moments, every single one of us and we've all had to learn to live with it. So shut up and stop snivelling."

I looked at him, shocked. But he had a point, I guess, and I really wasn't any worse off than any of the other pony boys. I drained my coffee and put the empty mug down on a table.

"I'd best be off. If I want any clean clothes I've got to spend the rest of the day in the laundrette. Everything I own reeks of petrol."

"Archie?"

I just nodded.

"I knew something had scared the shit out of you. Well, fuck off then."

"Thanks for the coffee and..."

"And nothing. We've had a fuck, OK, nothing more. Doesn't mean you're my boyfriend, or my girlfriend for that matter. We just had a fuck, that's all it was, nothing more. And don't you go telling anyone, anyone at all. There's nothing between us, nothing to tell, nothing to talk about. Get that? Do you?"

"Yes, Jed but why?"

"Because I fucking say so. Now fuck off, you're making the place look crowded."

Jed watched over me as I threw on the rest of my clothes and headed for the door.

"Thanks, Jed, thanks for the coffee. I'll see you tonight." But Jed just slammed the door behind me.

I spent the rest of the day monopolising the local laundrette but even then there was a distinct reek of petrol around my stuff. I also took the time to check that the Belinda Bombshell costume was immaculate and that I had enough makeup, lube and condoms to see me through the night. I thought about going in costume but, if I did so, then I would have to come home in costume as well and I wasn't sure what state I would be in. In the end I put together a holdall with all the bits and pieces in it. 

When I got to the club I found that, unlike last time, there was only one dressing room, a long thin room with mirrors all the way down one side. What's more, we weren't the only act booked for that night. There was also a comedian and a crooner who did Rat Pack covers. When I arrived both were already there passing back and forth a hip flask. 

"Ello sunshine, come on in. Have a nip of whiskey."

"Err... no thanks."

"Go on, it'll put hairs on your chest."

"This one don't need hairs on his chest, he's with the sex act and I'll give pound to a penny he's the drag half. That's right, isn't it?"

"That's right. Belinda Bombshell at your service, gentlemen." I reckoned it would be best to be out and open. After all, in a few minutes I would be putting on my make up and then all pretence would be gone.

"Well then, Belinda, I'm Harry Harper and this is Tony Anderson. We're the other two acts for tonight. Pull up a pew. There's room for everyone."

And, after that, I was just another one of the acts, another performer. There was plenty of room for us all and I was able to unpack my hold all, hang up my costume and lay out all my makeup ready to start.

"So, what's the running order?" Tony asked after a while.

"There's a meal first, then you do a turn. After that I go out and do a few jokes followed by young Belinda here getting her arse shagged and then you're out again to see the night out."

"What's the occasion?"

"Birthday party. Len told me it was a fiftieth. Some bloke called Ian Shoesmith. Local councillor with a seat on the planning committee. This is to butter him up, wine him, dine him, let him feel the hero for the night and make sure he votes the right way when the new casino is being planned. My guess is that Belinda here will end up being part of the package."

Tony and Harry had a good laugh over this and I just shook my head and turned back to my make up.

I was all but finished by the time Jed arrived and, shortly after that Len Phillips put his head around the door to check that all was OK. Apparently he had been advised by Mr Mason to check that my makeup was up to scratch so he waited while I put together the last few finishing touches and then had me walk back and forth. I did my best Belinda Bombshell, camping it up like crazy. 

"Yeah, you'll do," Len agreed rather reluctantly. "Now, the guest of honour is a Mr Shoesmith. I don't give a flying fuck about the rest of the guests, he's the one you're out to impress, got me. Once the show is over you get out there and give him whatever he wants. Anything at all. All I want to hear is how agreeable you were, how you let him do all the things he wanted"

"Yes, Mr Phillips."

"I'll come and get you after the show. He'll want to meet you. Understood?"

"Completely."

"OK, folks, the meal is being served and Tony, we'll be ready for you in thirty minutes or so."

"Right you are, Len."

And then there was nothing to do but wait. Well, there was one thing to do and that was get myself lubed up. I didn't fancy doing that in front of Harry and Tony so I went and checked out the bogs. It was a tiny room off the end of the dressing room and it was going to be very cramped but, even so, I reckoned it would be easier if Jed did it for me. We waited until Tony was out on stage before we got up and went to the toilet door at the end of the dressing room.

"Don't you boys go getting all shy on my account," Harry said from behind his newspaper. "You ain't got nothing I ain't seen a million times before and there's no room in those bogs to swing a cat, let alone shove grease up youngster's arsehole."

We both just stopped and looked at him. He lowered his paper and looked back at us.

"What? Do you think I didn't know? Give me a break. You're not the first and you won't be the last. Come on, bend over and spread 'em. I promise I won't look."

Harry returned to his paper. I looked at Jed, shrugged and went back to where our stuff was laid out. I took my panties right off, bent over and rested my elbows on the dressing table.

Ever since he had arrived Jed had been quiet, off hand, and there was no indication whatsoever that, only that morning, we had been close. It looked like the walls were back up and the old Jed was back in town. Even so, as he pushed the lube deep inside me with his finger, I was glad it was him and I pushed back, taking it as deep as it would go.

And then it was back to waiting. I spent the time mulling over what I had got myself into. My 'walk on the wild side' had spun completely out of control. Mr Mason, who, at first had seemed to be my protector, was actually the reason I had to carry on. I didn't dare let Len Phillips down because that would get back to Mr Mason and... and I didn't dare speculate what would be next. I did know I was shit scared and there was no end in sight.

After a while Tony's set was finished and he returned to the dressing room. This meant that Harry went on and, even from where we sat, we could hear the roars of laughter. From what I could gather his humour wasn't very politically correct but then, nor were his audience. 

He was winding up his act when Len came to fetch Jed and I and lead us to the edge of the stage. I had butterflies in my stomach. It's show time. Here we go again. 

"...so I says, that's no walrus, that's my mother! Thank you, thank you. And now, gentlemen, we've got the sweetest young thing here to entertain you. Put your hands together for Belinda Bombshell!"

The music started and, as Harry came off stage, so Jed and I went on.

The crowd were, if anything, drunker and rowdier than last time but that was great. My way of coping was to get as far as I could into the Belinda Bombshell role. Half dancing, half miming, I pleaded with 'schoolmaster' Jed not to cane me, going as far as to kiss his prick through his trousers. This got roars of approval from the audience. Jed, of course, followed the script and, in no time, I was up-ended, with my panties around my knees and my bare arse facing the audience. Jed was no gentler with the cane than last time and I couldn't help but thrash about a bit. As with last time, the audience were cheering every stroke and, if they had had their way, it would have gone far beyond the twelve strokes Jed actually gave me.

And then we got to the fucking. Jed positioned me side on to the audience and this meant that I could turn my head and look at them. Once again I played Belinda to the max, mugging and gurning, making out that I was a horny little slut who was loving every minute of it. It was easy to see which guest was Mr Shoesmith. I looked him straight in the eye and gave him a big, blatent wink. Then, with Jed still pounding into my arse, I started sucking my thumb, fellating it as suggestively as possible.

And then, suddenly, we were running out of music. There was a burst of frantic activity from Jed and, just in time, he managed to pull out and shoot his load over me even as the last chords were dying away.

We held the pose for quite a while as the applause filled the room and then I stood up and, still with my panties around my knees, I followed Jed to the front of the stage where he bowed and I curtseyed. This caused my panties to fall down completely so I picked them up and tossed them into the room where there was a bit of a scrum to try and catch them. I hope the lucky recipient would still find a pair of soiled panties a worthy trophy when he sobered up the next morning.

Tony was coming back onto the stage to do the second half of his set so Jed and I hurried back to the dressing room. I barely had time to wipe myself down and find my spare skirt and panties before one of the waiters arrived telling me that Mr Phillips was asking for me. I tucked a bunch of condoms into the pockets in my skirt and followed him out, into the party.

"Here she is, here's our naughty little schoolgirl," Mr Phillips leered as I approached.

"Ooh, Mr Phillips, I do hope you enjoyed our little show. And you must be Mr Shoesmith. Did you like what you saw?" I shimmied up to him and, almost inevitably, felt his hand groping around my arse. He pulled me towards him.

"You're a randy little tart, aren't you. I saw you, up on the stage. You were loving it, loving every minute of it, weren't you. You just loved having that boy's cock up your arse. And what about that caning? Was that real? I bet it wasn't."

"Sir! You do me an injustice!"

"Well, show us your arse then. Let's have a look see."

I turned around and flicked up the back of my skirt. I felt his fingers tracing out the lines that the cane had left.

"Gor, he really did go for you, didn't he. Is that what turns you on? Do you like a bit hanky spanky?"

"I'd rather have a real man. Are you a real man? I bet you are." I turned back round and snuggled up to him, batting my false eyelashes. I ran my fingers up his thigh and saw the bulge in his trousers as he responded. "Ooh, you're a big strong man, aren't you? A girl like me could easily fall for a big strong man like you."

I was going miles over the top and I felt I sounded like a false parody but Mr Shoesmith was lapping it up. I guess he was too drunk to tell the difference between sincerity and my desperation to please. 

"And what do you like, Mr Shoesmith," I whispered in his ear. "What turns you on? Do you like it naughty or nice, or maybe a little bit of both? Would you like me to suck your prick for you? I'd like that. I love sucking pricks. I love it, down on my knees with a big fat prick filling my mouth. Or maybe you'd like to fuck me. Is that what you'd like. I like fucking, I'd just love to have your prick inside me. Just thinking about it makes me so hot and horny. Would you like to fuck me, please, Mr Shoesmith?"

He pulled me onto his lap and his hand delved into my panties, grabbing my prick and balls and squeezing them quite tightly. He started tugging away and I guess he thought he was wanking me but he was too drunk to realise how ineffective he was being.

"You're a horny little slag, aren't you?"

"I'm horny for you, Sir. I'd do anything for you, anything you wanted."

"Anything at all?"

"Try me."

"Len, is there anywhere...."

"Of course." 

Mr Phillips called over a waiter who led us off to a side room. No sooner had the door closed behind us than Mr Shoesmith threw me to the floor.

"You like it dirty, don't you," he said as he undid his fly and pulled out his prick.

"Yes...," I started but, as soon as I opened my mouth he started to piss. 

"Go on, drink it down, all of it!"

I didn't know what to do but I was more scared of the retribution that Mr Mason might mete out to me than the medical risks of drinking a strangers urine so that's what I did. It seemed to go on forever and, of course, there was no way I could swallow as fast as he was pissing so my blouse, my skirt, all of me, was soon drenched.

"Not so cocky now, are you bitch," he snarled. "Down on the floor, reeking of piss. That's where you belong, that's all you're worth. You're nothing, dirt, filth, you disgust me."

He had moved on from pissing and was now wanking himself. 

"Your sort disgust me. You've no morals, no decency, you come from the gutter and that's where you belong. Look at me, bitch! Look at me!"

I looked up and, as seemed my lot nowadays, I ended up with a face full of spunk.

For a moment he just stood there as the last few drops dribbled off him and onto my upturned face. Then, with a sigh, he put his prick away and did up his flies.

"You disgust me," he snarled as he turned and left the room.



Pony Boy Ch. 07



*** Chapter Seven of Pony Boy ***

Once again, appologies for the wait. I hope you think it's worth it.

As ever, if you're new to this story please don't start here. It won't make much sense and won't be anything like as good if you miss the build up. Meanwhile, despite the title, there's no pony play in this chapter. In fact, it explores Ben's other little foible and might almost fit better under Transsexuals & Crossdressers. However, it's still a gay male story so that's where it goes.

Enjoy

***

Sunday was, at last, a day off and, while I still had to make yet another trip to the laundrette, that gave me some time to catch up with my course work. Or so I thought. I couldn't concentrate as my mind kept running over the implications of what I had got myself into. 

I couldn't stop thinking about what Jed had said back in his flat. "You'll take whatever Mr. Mason tells you to take and you'll keep on taking it for as long as you're earning him money. He was making a fortune out of you as a pony boy and now that he's got Belinda fucking Bombshell he'll make even more."

Jed couldn't have put it any clearer than that. Every time I went out, as a pony, or as a rent boy, or as Belinda Bombshell, I was making money for Mr. Mason and there was no way he was going to let me off the hook. What is more, the more I went out the more I earned. When I had first agreed to work for him he had assured me that it would be an occasional thing, once a week at most, and that, importantly, it wouldn't interfere with my degree. If the last few days were anything to go by then that was a million miles from the truth. I would be far too busy working for Mr. Mason to attend to my coursework, my friends, or even my family. Easter was only a couple of weeks away and I still hadn't told my parents that I wouldn't be coming home.

That brought on another wave of despair. What on earth was I going to tell my parents? I was certainly desperate to keep the two halves of my life completely separate. I was horrified by the thought of my mum finding out what her son was doing for a living and I certainly didn't want her, or my kid sister, to meet Archie under any circumstances. Look at Jed, locked away in his fortress, no sign of friends, partner, or family. Was that where I was heading? It looked like a distinct possibility. On the other hand, what choices did I have? Mr. Mason had made it quite clear that any attempt to get away would be met by violence and, right from the start, Archie had threatened not just myself but my family as well. If I were to go home for Easter I would end up taking Archie with me.

But, however much I might have to lie to my parents there was no way I could continue lying to myself. I simply had to face up to what I had become. But it wasn't just that I was a rent boy, a prostitute, or a sex worker, to use that rather anodyne PC phrase, it was the way I was totally under the control of my pimp, and there was no other word for what Mr. Mason was to me. I went where he told me and, when there, willingly did whatever was asked of me. If I were to avoid Mr. Mason's wrath then I had to be pleasing, compliant and available. I had to do whatever the punters wanted and look like I was loving it. Saying 'no' to a punter would be just the same as saying 'no' to Mr. Mason and he had made it quite clear that was not an option. 

But that was only part of the picture. Up until all this had started I had been a virgin in every sense of the word. My sexual experience had been limited to a few clumsy fumbles and I had been insecure and unsure of myself. For all my boasting and bravado in front of my friends I had never really been into girls nor had I made any sense of my confused feelings from the changing room showers. 

In a few short weeks all that had completely changed. Whilst I still wasn't as experienced as Jed or Carl I was no longer a stranger to sex, weird sex, kinky sex and above all, gay sex. There was no confusing my feelings now. I was definitely and unashamedly gay. And I wasn't just gay, I was very definitely a 'bottom'. I loved to be held, taken, ravished. I loved the feel of another man's prick filling up my backside which, given what I had become, was a pretty good job. While I was starting to truly despise the simpering tart I was forced to play I wasn't entirely lying when I told the punters I loved being taken by a 'real man'.

And, talking of simpering tarts, there was the whole Belinda Bombshell thing. If ever there was a poisoned chalice it was that one. One spur of the moment dance routine with Jed to get us out of a fix had led directly to my being sodomised on stage for the enjoyment of others. Even then, it wasn't so much the stage show that I minded but the expectations that came along with it. Belinda Bombshell was, to use the Chinese expression, the bus that everyone rides. It's hard to maintain any self respect when you're on your knees in the gents toilets giving a blow job to yet another stranger.

But, much as I hated Belinda, if it hadn't been for her I might never have discovered that special little thrill I get whenever I wear women's clothing. Don't get me wrong, I'm not a girl, I don't want to be a girl, I like being a boy and I really love having a penis but when I put on my panties I feel more comfortable, I feel more like the 'real' me. And then the buzz I had got from wearing drag in public, from sitting in the pub with Tracy, that was hard to describe. 

I stared at the tumble dryer and watched my clothes going round and round. I had, on a whim, bought a six pack of panties but even that was barely sufficient given the use they were currently taking. Moreover I only had one smart set of clothes and only one Belinda outfit. If, as looked likely, I were to end up working three or four times a week, maybe even more, I would need more. That was going to hit me hard. Mr. Mason had made it quite clear that any further clothing would have to come out of my own pocket. My wages, which had seemed so fantastic back at the start, were a great deal less generous now that I had so many expenses.

Monday morning found me down at the gym. Mr. Mason stopped by and had a long chat with Albert about my training. They called me over and had me strip and pose while they looked me over. The main gist of their conversation was that Mr. Mason wanted me fit to run as a pony boy but, now that Belinda had turned out to be such a good earner, he didn't want me over muscled. "They're paying for a naughty schoolgirl, not some Russian shot putter," was the way he put it.

"If that's what you want how about we give him a nice pair of tits?" Albert replied coming around behind me and cupping my pecs as if to demonstrate. "I know a guy who can get hold of this hormone treatment. Costs a bob or two but works a treat. Have him swelling up in no time. Of course you need surgery to get anything that fills a bra but that costs money."

I stood aghast as Mr. Mason seemed to think this over. 

"Nah, that's not what I'm after. Not for this one, not yet anyway. He makes too much as a pony boy and that wouldn't work if he had tits. Anyway, there are plenty of punters who want a boy in panties, that's what turns them on," Mr. Mason said, much to my relief. "Just don't make him too muscled, that's all."

And, with that, Mr. Mason was off. 

It was only a couple of hours later when I met Mr. Mason again. I had gone round to Mr H's office to sort out the money he owed me and found Mr. Mason there as well. What with Thursday night, Friday and Saturday there was quite a bit owing although it did turn out to be less than I might have hoped for. Although Len Phillips was apparently more than happy with the way I had 'looked after' Mr Shoesmith, his financial expression of this didn't match what I had earned the previous week after servicing so many clients. Also it turned out that Mr Robbins and his friends had been less than forthcoming in the tipping department. Still, all in all, there were several hundreds to add to my stash.

"What's all this about you turning up here in drag," Mr. Mason asked once the money was sorted. "Tracy tells me you two went out for a drink together, all girly girly like."

"I needed to prove to her that I could do my own makeup," I replied. "I thought that, if I could wear it out in the street...."

"Oh, I think it's more than that. Every time I see you you're wearing panties. You're wearing them now, aren't you?"

I just blushed as everyone laughed.

"Actually, I can use that. If you're good enough in drag to go out for drinks with Tracy, then you're probably good enough to go out with punters. I've got one or two customers who would love to be seen around town with Belinda Bombshell on their arm. They'll pay extra for that."

"But I haven't got the clothes," I protested. "When I went out with Tracy I was just in jeans and a sweatshirt. It's one thing to nip across to the pub over the road, quite another to go out to some West End hotel."

"If you haven't got the clothes then you'll just have to go out and buy some," Mr. Mason spoke as if explaining to a small child. "Do I have to do everything for you?"

"But I don't know where...."

"Then you had better find out where and find out fast."

"Tracy knows the right places," Mr H. took pity on me. "Hang on a second."

He buzzed the intercom and Tracy appeared at the door.

"Ben needs to go shopping and I want you to go with him," Mr. Mason said as she entered.

"What sort of shopping?"

"Clothes shopping. Something for Belinda Bombshell to wear when she's taken out for drinks or a meal. Don't get anything too slutty. Sexy, yes, slutty, no, got me?"

"You want Ben in drag, little black dress sort of thing."

"That's the one."

"OK, Mr. Mason, I know just the place but I can't do it today; it will have to be tomorrow. I've got the VAT returns to do this morning and then my mum's at the doctors in the afternoon."

"Tomorrow is fine."

"OK, Ben, I'll meet you here in the office, nine o'clock sharp," and, with that, Tracy returned to her desk in the front office.

"Now then, rest of the week. Jed, you've got Mr Avery tonight and Mr Cummings on Wednesday. Have you anything lined up for Tuesday?"

"Not yet."

"I'll see what I can do. Can't have you lounging about doing nothing. Ben, I've got a Mr Harper lined up for you tonight. It's a late one so I'll send a car round at nine thirty. Don't keep him waiting. On Tuesday, I've got a double booking, you and Carl, and I want you ready for seven thirty on that one. I haven't got anything for Wednesday yet but you'll have been shopping by then. I want to sell Belinda as an escort starting as soon as possible so be ready for that. OK?"

"Of course, Mr. Mason," I replied, even though it was far from OK. However, the smell of petrol that still emanated from my wardrobe was all the reminder I needed not to make a fuss.

"Apart from that, there's a normal race meeting on Thursday and we'll sort out the weekend later. OK?"

Jed and I nodded are assent and were dismissed. We went out into the streets and I offered Jed a lift home. He accepted but was very quiet all the way back to his place.

"Jed, what's up?" I asked as I pulled the car into the car park.

"Bloody Carl", he muttered.

"What about Carl?"

"You're going on a double with him tomorrow."

"Yeah, what about it?"

"You're such a slag, you'll let anyone fuck you."

"Jed! It's not like that, you know it's not."

"What is it like then."

"I let Carl fuck me because I have to. If I don't Mr. Mason will have Archie break my legs or something. I let you fuck me because...."

"Let me fuck you? That's a good'un. Go on then, why do you let me fuck you?"

"I didn't mean it like that, you know I didn't. Please, Jed, don't make this difficult."

"You still haven't told me why you 'let' me fuck you."

I just looked at Jed. How could I explain without talking about things I wasn't ready to talk about? 

"Because it's different with you," I muttered after a while.

"How different?"

"Please, Jed, I let Carl fuck me because I have to; I let you fuck me because I want to. Is that good enough for you?"

"You want to? You mean you like being fucked by me?"

"You know I do."

"How about now, right now, would you 'let' me fuck you now?"

"Please, Jed."

"Please, Jed, what?"

"Please, Jed, don't make this difficult."

"I'm not making this difficult. I just want to know if you want me to fuck you."

"You know I do. Please, Jed, I always want you to fuck me."

"Well, seeing as you ask so nicely, you'd better come upstairs."

And, for the second time I followed Jed up the seemingly endless staircases that led to the floor where fortress Jed was located. He unlocked the door and I followed him in.

"You know where the bedroom is. Go and get ready. I'll be with you in a moment."

"Plea...."

"Just shut it and do as you're told."

So that's what I did. I went into his bedroom, took off my clothes, folded them up and put them on a chair. Then I got into bed, waiting for him. A short while later I heard the toilet flush and he emerged, still drying his hands. He tossed the towel onto the chair where my clothes were and started to get undressed. As I watched my hand strayed to my prick and I gave myself a little stroke.

"Get your hands off your prick, you little tart. Better still, put your hands over your head and grip the bars of the headboard."

I did as I was told which left me stretched out and feeling very exposed.

"Maybe I ought to tie you like that. I've got a pair of handcuffs somewhere; does that rock your boat?"

I knew better than to answer. He finished getting undressed and got into the bed beside me. As with last time it was a tight squeeze. I was expecting to get fucked, that was what I had come for but, instead, he just lay on his side looking at me. He propped himself up on his elbow and, with his free hand, he traced the outline of my body, trailing his fingertips across my skin. 

"You don't move and you don't make a sound, have you got that?"

I nodded in reply.

He shifted until he was right up against me and our pricks were lying next to each other. He reached down and put his hand around them both, squeezing quite hard. Slowly he pumped his fist and I could feel our pricks, crushed together, moving back and forth in his tight grip. And, as he wanked us both off, he just looked at me.

Maybe I was seeing what I wanted, maybe it was all an illusion, but as he looked down at me, I felt that there was something between us. I wanted so much to reach up and kiss him although I didn't because I was scared of breaking the spell. My silence, my stillness, my hands gripping the bars of the headboard, were all part of my acquiescence. I was Jed's to own and control. I wanted this, I needed this, why did it only happen while we were in bed together?

Because, as the steady beat of Jed's fist lifted us higher there was a real connection a coming together, a spiritual as well as a physical bond. I felt I could see, touch, feel the real Jed, the one he kept hidden away behind the walls of cynicism and street toughness. I felt that, I hoped that, he wanted me as much as I wanted him, that feeling my prick against his was as good for him as it was for me. Oh, Jed, oh, Jed, oh... 

I could feel Jed starting to come; I could feel myself starting to come. Jed's fist was getting frantic and he was crushing himself into me. And then he gave a massive animal groan and I could feel the warm flow of the spunk being pumped from him. That was enough to set me off as well. It felt good, oh, so good as we came together, sharing release, two jets of spunk shooting together into a glorious sticky mess between us. With a groan that came from the bottom of his soul Jed squeezed the last few drops from inside us before collapsing on top of me, panting.

"That was...." I started once I had got my breath back.

"Shut it, tart," Jed snapped back. "You've had your fun. Now it's time to have a shower and get you dressed so you can fuck off. Come on."

He got up out of the bed and led me to his diminutive bathroom. Together we squeezed under the shower and he insisted on washing both of us. I was just to stand there and keep quiet, even if I did get hard again as he soaped my prick. It wasn't long before the hot water ran out so we finished up, turned off the taps and he passed me a towel. He grabbed his dressing gown from behind the door but, unlike last time, he didn't just disappear. Rather we both went back to his bedroom and he stayed and watched as I got dressed. He wasn't exactly smiling, that's not Jed's way, but there was a warmth behind his eyes. As I put my clothes back on I glanced around Jed's bedroom, the inner sanctum in the fortress. Mostly it was bare and plain, purely functional but, next to his bed, there was a postcard in a cheap frame. I picked it up and looked at it.

The postcard was pretty generic. It had 'Greetings from Lanzarote' across the four scenes that made up the card. I couldn't see anything particular about this card that could make it special but, as I was looking at it, a photo that had been tucked behind it fell out. I bent down to pick it up. It showed a young lad looking rather shyly towards the camera. 

"Who's...?"

"Put that down you nosey little fucker! Why can't you leave things alone? Fuck you, fucking, fucking fuck you. Get the fuck out of here, now. Go on fuck off, fuck off before I make you."

I grabbed the rest of my clothes as Jed, as angry as I had ever seen him, bundled me out of the flat. Thank heavens I was decent but I still ended up putting my shoes and socks on while stood on the walkway outside his flat. I wondered who the lad in the photo was. One thing was for sure, Jed wasn't going to tell me.

That afternoon I actually got some time to do some coursework and even attended a couple of lectures. I got lots of 'hello stranger, where have you been?' from my mates and had to play the whole job thing to the maximum, especially when I had to explain that I wasn't going to be free that evening either. Leading this double life was getting harder and harder.

It was close on ten o'clock by the time I was dropped off at Mr Harper's hotel. With a feeling of 'here we go again' I got in the lift which whisked me up to the top floor. I found the door to his suite and knocked. 

The door was answered by a small, nervous middle aged man who, when he saw who it was, peered out and glanced up and down the corridor

"Oh, hi, you must be.... er... I'm Paul, Paul... err... Paul Smith, why don't you come in? I don't... I don't normally do this kind of thing," he explained as he led me into the suite, "but Mr. Mason was kind enough to... well, anyway, here you are. Why don't you sit down. What about a drink? Would you like a drink?"

He was noticeably nervous as went to the minibar and poured himself a whiskey, quite a large one. As I wanted to keep a clear head, I just asked for an orange juice. He brought the drinks back and sat down opposite me. We stared at each other awkwardly. I glanced at the fourth finger of his right hand; sure enough there were the marks where his wedding ring would normally have been. It looked like "Mr Smith" had also suddenly become single. At least he had bothered to make the pretence; most couldn't care less. 

"How... how does this normally work?" he asked.

"However you want it to but..." I was the one being paid to give this man a 'good time' so it was my responsibility to make the first move. I needed something to break the ice. I needed something to bridge the gap between us. Well, there was one obvious move.

"I'm just going to freshen up. Will you excuse me a moment...." I waved in the direction of the en-suite.

"Of course."





Pony Boy Ch. 07



I nipped into the en-suite and, as I suspected, there was the complementary dressing gown hanging behind the door. As quick as I could I stripped off everything except my panties and put on the dressing gown. I slipped a couple of condoms and the lube into the pocket of the dressing gown and, after a quick check in the mirror, sashayed back into the room and, rather than returning to my chair, I picked up my orange juice and went and stood in front of him. 

"There, that's better, a lot more comfortable. Would you like me to...."

"You're.... you're wearing nail varnish... on your toenails...."

"Do you like it?"

"God, that's sexy! Please, let me see. Please... please put your foot here." He opened his thighs and patted the edge of the armchair between them. 

I put my foot up on the chair and moved it forward so that the tips of my toes were just tickling the bulge in his trousers. He immediately slid down the chair so that I was actively pressing against him.

"Do you mind if I...?" he asked as he reached down for my foot. 

I just smiled as he took my foot in his hand and moved it so it was pushing against the length of his prick. He was breathing heavily and I wondered if he was about to come. He pushed harder, rubbing my foot against him but this just meant that I almost lost my balance. I stepped back and took a long hard look at him. 

My job was to give the customer what they wanted. So far this had almost entirely consisted of bending over and spreading my arse cheeks. By using my foot to wank himself off "Mr Smith" implied that he wanted something else entirely. Wanting me to effectively stand on his prick suggested that, for once, it would be me who was handing out the abuse. But I couldn't just assume. He was still the one who was paying, it was his wishes that had to be fulfilled at the end of the day. It was time to try a little experiment. I undid the dressing gown and stood with my hands on my hips, holding it open.

"Do you want my foot back on your prick?"

"Yes, yes please."

"Then I think you're a little overdressed," I said making my voice as harsh as possible. "And what are you doing in that chair. You should be on your knees on the floor, shouldn't you?"

"Yes, sir, sorry sir," he replied slipping off the char and onto the floor where he started to feverishly tear at his clothes.

There was no doubt now. Even if he hadn't called me 'sir' the way he was grovelling on the floor in front of me said all I needed to know. 

"Hurry up, I haven't got all night, and look at the mess you're making. You're pathetic, truly pathetic, do you know that."

He lost a couple of buttons off his shirt in his hurry and, as he pushed his trousers down, the bulge in his briefs made it more than apparent that I had read this right. It wasn't long before he was naked and on his knees, his rigid prick standing out in front of him. As I kicked away his clothes to the corners of the room I ordered him to kneel up straight and put his hands behind his head. Then, fetching a chair to use as a prop, I stood in front of him and reached out to prod at his prick with my toes. I remembered being bullied by a gym teacher at school and decided to take a few leaves from his book. 

"Someone's a little overexcited, aren't they?"

"Yes, yes Sir."

"You're a dirty little pervert. What are you?"

"A dirty little.... a dirty little pervert sir."

"And what should I do with you? Would you like me to tread on you?"

"Yes, yes please."

"Oh, I think you can ask nicer than that. Try again"

"Please, please sir, would you be kind enough to tread on this dirty little pervert. Treat him like the doormat he is. Please, sir."

"And why should I do that?"

"Please, please, I beg you!"

His prick was, if anything, harder than ever. I seemed to have stumbled on some inner need of his, a desire long suppressed. I put my foot against his shoulder and pushed him backwards, not too hard but enough to make him fall. I pushed him with my foot until he was lying on his back and then put my foot over his face. Eagerly she started to lick.

"Did I tell you you could lick my foot."

"No, Sir. Sorry sir."

"Now I've got your slobber all over it. How disgusting! I need to wipe it off on my doormat. Are you my doormat?"

"Yes, sir, please use me as your doormat."

I wiped my foot back and forth across his chest getting ever nearer to his prick which hadn't softened in the slightest. I ended up, however, moving the chair, pushing his legs apart with my foot and standing between them so that, in this position, I could lay my foot along the length of his prick.

"Oh, god!" he groaned as I pushed rhythmically against it. "Oh, god, oh god, oh, please, harder, please, harder...."

Harder? I was all but standing on him, grinding the sole of my foot against his prick. And there was no doubt that this was working; he was pushing back at me, rubbing his prick against my foot as much as I was rubbing it against him.

"Oh, yes, please, a little more, just a little more, oh.... oh.... oohhhh!"

The spunk shot from him, great gobbets covering his chest. I moved back round to the side and used my foot to smear it all over him. From time to time I would move my foot to over his face and get him to lick it clean until, eventually, it was clear that he had had enough.

"That... that was fantastic. Thank you, thank you so much." 

"Yeah, not so bad," I replied as I continued to wipe my foot on his pubic hairs. "But before we do anything else I think you need a shower."

"Will you... will you join me. Please, I'd like that."

"We'll have to see, won't we," I replied as I helped him to his feet. "Come along then." I led him into the en-suite and I ordered him into the shower. I stood back and watched as he adjusted the taps. Already he was getting hard again. The night was far from over.

And, ironically, although I was in control, although I was the one calling the shots, it was going to be quite a long night. I looked Paul over. He was as ordinary as they come and about as far as possible from the big, strong types that turned me on. Indeed, I was having to be his big strong man, a role that did not come naturally. Still, it was time to get back to work. I stepped out of my panties and joined him in the shower.

Immediately his hands were all over me. He seemed fascinated by my shaven body and he must have used half a bottle of shower gel as he used washing me down as an excuse to get a good feel. In particular, he kept coming back to my prick, soaping it and massaging it so that, under his ministrations, it was rock hard. 

I returned the favour by reaching around and groping his arse. Almost inevitably, my finger ended up over his sphincter. He shuddered and moved in closer.

"Oh, you like that, don't you? You like me feeling up your arse."

"Yes, oh, yes," he replied breathlessly.

I took my hand away, poured out a big dollop of shower gel and, when I returned, smoothed the gel all over before pushing the tip of my forefinger into his arsehole.

"Oh, please," he gasped as I pushed my finger inside him. "Please, deeper, as deep as you can."

I pushed harder, managing to get my finger in as far as the second knuckle. He put his arm around me, pulling himself into me, frantically pumping my prick with his other hand.

"I need... I need.... Please, sir, I need you to fuck me," he panted in me ear.

I thought for a moment about turning him around, putting him against the wall and fucking him right there in the shower. No lube and no condom; that was not really a good idea. I pulled my hand out from his backside.

"On your knees!"

He looked a little surprised but he did as he was told.

"Now kiss my prick and ask me nicely."

He leant forward and covered my prick and balls with a flurry of kisses.

"Please, please sir, please will you fuck me," he asked between the kisses.

"How should I fuck you?"

"Please sir, up my arse. Please fuck me up the arse with your prick."

"Not here; in bed."

He pulled back and looked at me, his disappointment showing in his eyes. He too had thought about being fucked in the shower but was less practical about it. In bed seemed a trifle tame and I knew I was close to blowing it.

"Trust me, it will be better," I suggested.

"You're the expert," he replied, still with some reluctance.

"No, I'm the one who tells you how it's going to be."

"Yes, you are, aren't you," he sighed as, once again, he melted against me. 

"The first thing to do is to rinse off and get dry. Now, come along."

I chivvied him out of the shower and, as quickly as we could, we dried ourselves and headed for the bedroom. On the way I grabbed the lube and a couple of condoms.

"What do you want me to....."

"Get on the bed! Now! Face down!"

I took a couple of the pillows and shoved them under him so that they lifted up and presented his backside. Without being told he opened his legs but I pushed them farther apart for good measure. Then I got up on the bed and, kneeling between his knees, squeezed out a good dollop of lube and, after slipping a condom over my finger, pushed it deep into his arse. 

"You like this, don't you?" I asked as I pushed the lube in and opened him up, 

"Yes, oh, yes please."

"But that's not all you want, is it?"

"No."

"So tell me."

"I want... I want you to fuck me."

"And why should I? Are you saying my finger isn't enough? Don't you like my finger up you?"

"Your finger's wonderful but...."

"But what?"

"Please, I need you to fuck me."

"I am fucking you."

"I need you to fuck me with your prick, please, with your prick." He was almost sobbing but, by now, I had his number. The more I piled it on the more he loved it.

I pulled my finger out and removed the condom that covered it. Then I another condom and fitted it over my prick. Kneeling forward, I took my prick in my hand and lined it up with his bum hole. At first he seemed to be too tight and I wondered if I was ever going to break through but, after a while, I managed to push the tip inside and, although I was never going to admit this to the punter, I started to fuck a man for the first time.

He was tight, really tight, and, even with the lube, each push was only getting me a little further inside. Mind you, that just made it feel good and, judging by the noises he was making, he was loving it too. Inch by inch I forced my way into him and each push made him give a little squeak, that mixture of pain and pleasure that I knew so well.

And then I was all the way in, buried to the hilt. Gently, slowly, I withdrew and then plunged in again. With each stroke he seemed to be opening up and, although he was still very tight, it was getting easier. I took it slow and steady, letting him, and me, feel every inch as I withdrew right to the tip and then slid all the way back in again.

"This is what you wanted all along, isn't it.?"

"Yes, oh, yes."

I thought for a moment, thought about the fantasies he seemed to be into. 

"Maybe, next time, I'll bring along some of my friends and they could watch me fuck your arse while they wait to take their turn in the gangbang. And if you struggle you'll just be held down, helpless until we've finished with you," I suggested

"Oh, god, would you really?" He stretched out his arms as if they were tied to the corners of the bed. My guess had been right.

"Can you hear them laughing at you, laughing at how pathetic you are, tied to the bed, with your bum wide open for whoever wants to fuck you? Well, can you?"

"Yes, yes, oh yes!"

"You're just their dirty little fuck hole, aren't you? What are you? Tell me."

"Their dirty little fuck hole. Oh, please, fuck me harder, please."

And, all the while, my slow steady strokes were building. I was thrusting away, pounding into him and I could feel myself starting to come. He wanted to be fucked harder, well that was fine by me. It wasn't what I was normally into, I would have preferred to have been the one on the bottom but, if I was going to fuck him I'd fuck him so hard, so hard, so...

My prick seemed to explode as the spunk shot from me. Once, twice, three times I pushed myself as deep as I could go until, spent and exhausted, I collapsed on top of him. 

Slowly I got my breath back and, as I did so, my erection subsided and I slipped out. I rolled off him and collapsed on the bed.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you."

I turned my head and looked at him.

"That was fantastic. When you started on about being gangbanged... how did you know that's a fantasy of mine."

"Just a lucky guess," I replied. "Now, you just lie there a moment, I need to go to the loo."

"Will you be coming back?"

"Of course, why shouldn't I?"

"I just wondered.... How long have I got you for? I mean, Mr. Mason just said you'd be dropping by; he didn't say for how long."

"All night, if you want."

"Really!"

"Just wait there. I'll be back in a moment."

When I got back from the en-suite he had tidied the bed and got in under the covers. I slipped in next to him and all the rough stuff seemed to be over so we just cuddled for a while. He couldn't keep his hand off my prick and, in return, I fondled his. We weren't exactly wanking each other off but we were both hard.

"Were you serious about the gangbang?" he asked shyly. "Could you..."

"Could I what?"

"Call up some friends...."

"Well, it's a bit late in the day now."

"I don't mean that, I mean next time."

"Next time?"

"Yeah, next time, could you bring a couple of friends? I'd pay for it."

"You'd have to ask my boss about that. He's the one who makes the arrangements. But I don't see why not. It could be a lot of fun. I bet you've got lots of ideas. Why don't you tell me about them?"

It was as if all his Christmases had come at once. He told me of all his submissive fantasies, fantasies that he had kept buried for years and now had a very real chance of acting out. I encouraged him by telling him about big strong tough Jed and Carl and suggesting things that we might do together. Of course, he was getting off on all this and, after a while, I really was wanking him off. We'd got as far as having him tied up, wearing my panties and getting golden showers when, for the second time that night, the spunk shot from him.

I fetched a flannel from the en-suite and mopped him down. Then, for a while, we just chatted. He still didn't seem like the normal sort of customer and that intrigued me. In fact, his inexperience had shown throughout.

"Is this the first time you've done this?" I asked.

"Sorry, yes, does it show?"

"There's nothing to be sorry about. I've really enjoyed it and, if you want to invite me back... well, you know who to ask."

"I'm not sure I do know who to ask. I mean Mr. Mason made all the arrangements. He said he knew some people who could... well... anyway, here you are. Do you have a card or something?"

I realised with a start that he didn't know that I worked for Mr. Mason so I glossed over that connection. I gave Mr. H's office as the contact number. A little more questioning revealed that he had met Mr. Mason at a civic reception. How they had been introduced by a mutual acquaintance and had hit it off immediately.

"Civic reception? Does that mean you work for the council."

"That's right. I'm on the planning committee. It was a sort of meet and greet for all the players in the big new reconstruction project. I gather he's one of the building contractors. One of the councillors introduced me to him and we got on like a house on fire. He's quite a man of the world, far more than I've ever been and he's got all sorts of contacts. He told this wonderful story about a schoolgirl drag act and all the amazing things she'd do. I told him I like to have a look sometime and the next thing I knew he was insisting that, if I hadn't tried... well... as I said, here you are. I'm really glad you are here." He gave me a little kiss. "You've been super."

"So have you," I replied.

And then, by mutual consent, it was time to sleep. However, it took me a while to drift off and I mused on how this was the second person in town planning to find Mr. Mason or his friends very generous. Given that Mr. Mason had supplied the hotel room as well as my services I wouldn't put it past him to find that there were hidden cameras that had captured our little games. It looked very much like Mr. Harper was going to find my services costlier than he had thought.

Tuesday morning found me climbing the stairs to Mr. H's office. Tracy was waiting for me with a big smile on her face. 

"Hi there. All ready for some girly clothes shopping? I hope you've brought plenty of money."

"I didn't bring that much."

"Never mind. We can charge it to the company and take it back out of your wages. How did you get on with Mr Harper last night?"

We went down to my car and, as I drove her across town to the clothes shop, I told her all about Mr. Harper and what he had had me do to him. 'The quieter they are the kinkier they are,' was her response.

When we got to the shop it was actually a warehouse. It was clear that most of their trade was mail order as they didn't have much presence on the street. We went in and Tracy was greeted as an old friend. Tracy explained briefly what we were after and we were taken through to the showroom in the back.

Talk about an Aladdin's cave! The main problem with being a guy who likes to wear women's clothes is that they are, inevitably, designed to be worn by women. As I have no intention of changing my body to fit the clothes what I needed was 'women's' clothes that had been subtly redesigned to be worn by men.

As soon as I walked into the showroom I saw a very obviously male manikin wearing the most darling gymslip in royal blue. It wasn't as outrageously slutty as the Belinda costume but that, to my eyes, just made it sexier. There were, of course, other costumes, the French maid, the cheerleader, and there was the Belinda outfit but it wasn't any of those that really caught my eye. There was an evening wear collection and, right in the middle, one of those Chinese dresses in a beautiful turquoise with gold trimmings. I just had to try it on.

As with the shoe shop, the staff had seen it all before and were completely unshockable. They already had my measurements as Tracy had emailed them through so they fetched out a dress in my size and, quick as a flash, my jeans and tee shirt were off and the dress was on.

It felt perfect. The saleswoman described it as a Cheongsam dress but I still thought of it as simply Chinese. The hem was maybe three or four inches above the knee and although the skirt was tight it was slit up the side which meant it was still possible to walk while wearing it. Tracy then insisted I had to accessorise with a little blue clutch bag and matching open toed sandals with a three inch heel. I strutted around feeling like a million dollars.

However, that was far from the end of things. According to Tracy I just had to have an 'lbd' which turned out to be a little black dress. We tried quite a few before we found the right one; a nice slim cut which disguised my male shape and made the best off my legs. Again there had to be bag and shoes to match. 

I had just taken off the lbd when Tracy handed me something very gauzy and flimsy and, above all, pink. 

"What's this?"

"A baby doll."

"A what!"

"Try it on."

Slightly reluctantly I did so. I looked in the mirror and tried a little swirl. There was no denying that, in a rather slutty, Belinda Bombshell way, it was very sexy. It was frilly and lacy and fastened in the front with the cutest satin bow. Moreover, as with everything else they sold, while it was indubitably feminine it was designed to be worn by a man. Mostly, when you see guys in sexy lingerie, they just look stupid. This one, like the dresses, managed to avoid that. 




Pony Boy Ch. 07



"Wear that and you'll have them drooling at the mouth," Tracy commented.

"But I can't turn up wearing this. I'll get arrested. I suppose I might manage if I were to wear a coat over it... but that would only work for when I go straight to the hotel room. Mr. Mason wants me to go out for drinks and meals with them."

"Use a shoulder bag. Then you can wear the lbd when you're out at the restaurant and, when you get back to the hotel room you slip off to the en-suite to 'change into something more comfortable'. You'll have to fold it up carefully but you should be able to get away with it. Trust me, it will be worth it."

I did another twirl and I could see what she was getting at. It wasn't very subtle but there was no doubt that the punters would love it and, as night follows day, their tips would reflect this. What is more, happy punters meant that Mr. Mason would be happy and, call me a coward but ever since the petrol incident keeping Mr. Mason happy had become my top priority.

"OK, I'll take it," I said as I unfastened and took off the top half. That left me just wearing the panties half. I turned and had another look at myself in the mirror. While they were frilly and very feminine they were also very comfortable. As I had found, the problem with men wearing women's panties is that they're not designed for men's bits. These, on the other hand, were. 

"Do you sell these separately?" I asked the sales assistant.

"Not those precisely; they only come as part of the set but but we do have plenty of similar styles on offer. Why don't you let me show you a few?"

A few! She must have shown me almost their entire stock because I had found pantie heaven. They had all sorts of styles: tangas, briefs, boyshorts, hipsters, bikinis, hi legs, everything and anything I could wish for. I had three basic needs: a number of pairs for everyday use, a number of pairs to wear when I was playing Belinda Bombshell and a number of pairs suitable for going out on a date. The first set, the everyday set, needed above all to be hardwearing and practical. The Belinda set needed to have that cheap tartyness that was Belinda through and through. Even so the old Dolly Parton saying about it costing a lot to look cheap came to mind when I saw the price tags. The third set, they were the ones I took the most care over.

Mr. Mason had said that the punters would like to take Belinda out for a meal or drinks, often to the best West End venues. I wasn't going to contradict him but, if they were going for the West End then a cheap tart like Belinda would be the last thing they would want as an escort. I needed a new persona, someone with a lot more style, grace and poise. In my head I called her Belle, possibly thinking of Belle De Jour but mostly just taking the first part of Belinda. Where Belinda was cheap, Belle had class. Where Belinda wore nylon, Belle wore silk. Where Belinda was a slut, Belle....

Of course, that's where it all broke down. As long as she was working for Mr. Mason Belle was going to be just as much the prostitute as Belinda and, like Belinda, would not be able to say 'no' to the punters, however bizarre or distasteful their requests. However, whereas Belinda belonged in the gutter Belle could, at least, dream of something different and I wasn't going to ruin that by wearing the wrong clothes. 

One thing was for certain, I would never let Mr. Mason know about Belle; as far as he was concerned I would remain Belinda. If I told him about Belle he would just take it and despoil it the way he had despoiled everything else.

There was quite a pile of clothes on the counter by the time I had finished. There were the two Belle outfits, the baby doll, Tracy had insisted on the gymslip, matching shoes and accessories and, of course, quite a pile of panties. I gasped when I saw the bill. Even when they gave me ten percent off it was still far, far more than I could afford.

"Don't worry about it," Tracy said, seeing the look of shock on my face. "I'll put it on the company account and we'll take it out of your wages. You'll pay it off in no time."

I was still reeling from the amount I had just spent when we got back to Mr. H's office to find that Jed was there picking up his wages. Mr. H asked if I wanted mine as well at which point Tracy to stepped in and explained that the company had footed the clothes bill and that the funds would be taken out of my wages in the interim.

"Well, at least the three hundred owing from last night will take quite a chunk out of what you owe," Mr. H said.

"Three hundred! I was there all night, not just for three hours."

"Yeah, but that was a special for Mr. Mason and different rates apply. OK?"

"OK," I replied with a sigh. Three hundred was less than half of what I owed but still a great deal more than nothing. 

"Anyway, I'm sure you got yourself a nice fat tip. Now, what did I get for all this money I've spent?"

"He's got the most darling little gymslip," Tracy cut in. "I thought it would be just the thing for Belinda Bombshell nights."

"Well, let's have a look."

"It's in the car."

"Well, go and bloody fetch it then. Bring the rest while you're at it."

Fuming from the multiple insults I went back down to the car and fetched the various shopping bags. OK, yes, I had picked up a full ton as a tip from Mr Harper but I had been promised a hundred quid an hour and I had been there for far longer than three hours. As for Mr H. talking about the money 'he' had spent. It was all coming out of my pocket at the end of the day. Mind you, I was still far too scared of Archie to make any complaints to Mr. H, let alone Mr. Mason.

Of course, when I returned with the shopping bags, Mr H demanded a fashion show and Jed hung around 'for the laugh'.

First up was the gymslip. I'd long got past any shyness so I stripped off as the others looked through my purchases. I ended up stood naked as the others got into a heated debate over which panties to use. 

Mr. H was all for sending me straight back to the shop for a pair of navy blue school knickers which, as far as he was concerned, were the only thing that went with the school uniform look. Tracy, on the other hand, went with the plain white cotton briefs I'd bought for everyday wear saying that they went with the white socks and red Mary Janes. Jed voted for a frilly lacy boy shorts affair but either wouldn't or couldn't say why. I just wanted to stop standing around naked as I was getting cold.

"Why doesn't he try them all on and then we can decide?"

"Oh, hello Mr. Mason. I didn't hear you arrive."

"Well, seeing as how you were all in here shouting the odds.... So, yeah, let's see the choices."

Mr. Mason took control and I got dressed in the gymslip and then, one by one, tried on the various panties, not just the pairs Tracy and Jed had suggested but quite a few others. Mr. Mason seemed more interested in the gymslip, how it looked when I was bent over, how easy it was to lift the back of the skirt. The original Belinda Bombshell skirt had been seriously short whereas this was mid thigh but when Mr. Mason got Jed to tuck the hem in under the belt and seemed more than happy with the result.

"But Mr. H is right, it needs navy blue school knickers. Make sure you pick some up as soon as possible. I want this ready for the next Belinda show. Now, what else have you got?"

Mr. Mason wanted to see everything I'd bought, even the stuff I'd got for myself and I just knew he was working out how he could make money from it. 

"I want photographs for the web site," Mr. Mason said as I finally got back into my everyday clothes. "The gymslip and both the dresses. Tracy, see if you can book Charlie for first thing tomorrow. I want them live by close of business. Ben, that means we'll need you down the studio straight after the gym so you had best buy those knickers this afternoon. OK?"

"OK," Tracy and I replied and, with that, we were dismissed.

"I'd offer you a lift," I said to Jed, "but I've got to go all the way back into town and pick up a couple of pairs of the navy blue school knickers."

"No problem. I'll come with you."

And so, together, we drove back to the clothes shop. 

"Bloody hell!" Jed exclaimed once we were led into the showroom. "It's all your wet dreams come true."

"Yeah, except I'm not buying them for me, I'm buying them for Mr. Mason and that sort of cheapens them."

"I know what you mean."

"How can I help you lads?"

"He's the one who needs help," Jed replied. "I'm just looking."

I explained my need for navy blue school knickers and she led me to one side to look through the catalogue. I found what I wanted and ordered six pairs. After all, I would probably need at least two for every Belinda performance and it wouldn't hurt to have a few spares. While I was there I couldn't help myself so I also had a good look through and ordered a few more pairs of everyday panties. 

When we had finished I found Jed deep in conversation with another of the sales staff and, as I paid up and we left, I noticed that Jed was also carrying a package. I hadn't got him down as liking this sort of stuff but, maybe Mr. Mason had ordered him to get something. 

"You're really into this dressing up lark, aren't you?" Jed asked as we drove across town to his place. "That's a fucking fortune you spent in that clothes shop."

"A fucking fortune Mr. Mason forced me to spend, and out of my money," I replied reufully.

"Yeah, but it's not all for Mr. Mason, some of it is for you, isn't it?"

"I just... Look, Mr. Mason wants to turn it into something cheap and tawdry but then he does that to everything he touches. But, yeah, OK, there's a part of me that feels just right when I'm wearing a dress, and panties and the shoes."

"So, you'd wear drag all the time if you could?"

"No, well, apart from the panties." I looked across and gave him a little smile. "Do you know what would be perfect?"

"What?"

"I'd love to own a bar somewhere nice and hot. Belle's Bar. During the day I'd just be normal and then, at night, I'd work behind the bar all dressed up. Maybe a little stage in the corner. Do a bit of cabaret."

"Belle's Bar? That's you, is it, Belle?"

"That's the bit that doesn't belong to Mr. Mason. Belinda is a slut and I hate her. Belle, she's...."

And with that, we pulled up outside the block of flats where Jed lived.

"Coffee?"

"Yes, please."

As we climbed the stairs I asked Jed if the lift ever worked and he just laughed, well, as much as a smoker can laugh when they've just climbed seven flights of stairs. When we got to the top he let us in and, as he headed to the kitchen to put the kettle on, he handed me the package he had bought at the clothes shop.

"Here, put this on," he said gruffly.

"What is it?"

"Just fucking put it on," and he turned back to the kettle.

I went into his bedroom and opened up the package. Inside was the most darling powder blue wrap-over dress. I put it on and it fitted perfectly. I stood in front of the mirror. The cut was perfect, suggesting curves that I really didn't have. The length was mid thigh which made the most of my legs. I just wished I had the right shoes to do it justice. Oh, well, barefoot would have to do. I went out to find Jed.

"Jed, I don't know how to say tha...."

"Shut it!"

He looked me up and down so I gave him a little twirl. He just nodded and a slow smile crossed his face. He put down the coffee cup he was holding, took two steps across the room, wrapped his big strong arms around me and....

And then he kissed me.

I felt completely overwhelmed. This wasn't supposed to happen. Jed wasn't supposed to be buying me dresses and, more than that, he wasn't supposed to be kissing me. I didn't know how I felt except, except... except I couldn't help but kiss him back. In all this madness, in all this craziness, I felt safe and protected and lo.... no, I couldn't go there, I had to take this for what it was.

Jed steered me backwards back into his bedroom and, without once breaking the kiss, pushed me back down onto the bed. He took my hands and pulled them above my hand. Without needing to be told I gripped the bars. Then he reached down and pulled up my dress.

"Hello, who's a naughty girl, going without panties!"

"I didn't..."

"Shh!"

He undid his jeans and pushed them, along with his boxers, to his knees. Then he rolled towards me and did that thing where he takes both our pricks in his hand and rubs them together. He was slow, he was sensuous and, above all, he was strong. 

"You like that, don't you?"

I just bit my lip and nodded. I knew better than to talk.

"But it's not all you want, is it?"

Again I nodded.

"Do you want me to fuck you?"

Oh, yes, oh, please! Again I didn't say anything but just pleaded with my eyes.

"Come along then." Jed let go of our pricks and, quite gently rolled me over so that I was knelt up with my backside in the air. He reached across to his bedside cabinet and, moments later, I felt his prick pushing at my backside. He must have spread a generous amount of lube along it because he slipped in just fine and I couldn't suppress a little groan of pleasure as, in one long slow movement, he buried himself to the hilt.

Long and slow, taken by my lover. Oh, Jed, yes, please. Right from the start I could feel his power as every single inch of him slid deep, deep inside me. He wasn't touching my prick, I didn't want him touching my prick. My pleasure came from him taking his pleasure from me. Harder, Jed, just a little harder. I wanted more but he was dictating the pace, I could only take what he gave me.

But what he gave me was what I wanted. Each push was getting harder, each thrust just a little bit deeper. He put his hands up, under my dress, gabbed my waist and pulled me onto him. I could feel him starting to come to the boil, feel the animal within him take over, driving him on. I could feel... I could feel... I could feel him right on the edge, maybe this thrust, no, this one, or.....

He drove himself into me, deep, deep into me, touching my very soul. A quick withdraw and then, once again, plundering my depths, taking me, using me, owning me. Two more times he thrust but the power was gone and, after the third, he collapsed taking me with him. We lay on our sides with him still deep within me.

For a long, long while we just lay there, content, relaxed fulfilled. Sure, I had not come but that was trivial, unimportant. It had been my turn to give, not take and the arm that held me tightly was all I need to know that I had given well. 

Slowly, gently, Jed became soft and slipped out from within me.

"I need a piss. Let me up, will you?"

We both got out of bed and I smoothed down the crumpled remains of the dress.

"Get that off and leave it her. I'll get it in the wash," Jed said as he headed for the door. I took the dress off and started to get dressed again. As I did so I looked again at the postcard from Lanzarote. Happier times, eh, Jed. I was still staring at it when Jed returned.

"Still poking your nose in where it don't belong."

"Sorry Jed, it's just that...."

"It's just that you're about as nosey as they come. Now, you've had your fun so fuck off."

"Jed!"

"Don't you Jed me. Go on, you know where the door is."

"OK, Jed but, seriously, thanks for the dress. It's lovely."

"Doesn't exist, nor do we, capice?"

"Capice. See you later."

And, with that, I was off.



Pony Boy Ch. 08



Gosh, has it really been eight months since I last posted. Oops Sorry. I guess you'll need a catch-up as much as I did. So here's the story so far.

Ben, when desperate for a little extra cash, discovered that there was good money to be made running in races as a 'ponyboy'. Despite being assured that the worst he would be subjected to would be a 'certain amount of groping' he has found that this led, inexorably, to a life as a prostitute. Moreover, Andy Mason, his pimp, along with Archie, Mr Mason's enforcer, has made it quite clear that, as long as there is money to be made from renting him out, quitting is not an option.

Among the many indignities Ben has been forced into is performing in a sex show where, cross dressed as naughty schoolgirl "Belinda Bombshell", he gets caned and sodomised for the entertainment of the punters. The show, and Belinda in particular, is such a hit that Mr Mason has seen yet another money making opportunity and he is keen that Ben should perform as Belinda as much as possible. But, more than just the stage show, he is now looking to make even more money by renting Ben out as a transvestite escort.

But, for all Ben is finding this demeaning and degrading, he is also discovering sides to his sexuality that had previously lain hidden. He may loathe Belinda and all she stands for but that doesn't stop him getting a certain frisson of pleasure whenever he puts on her panties.

And, all the while, there's the complicating factor of his growing relationship with taciturn and secretive Jed, at first his arch rival but, latterly, his lover. 

At the end of the last chapter we heard Mr Mason tell Ben that he has a double date with Carl on Tuesday, a photo session as Belinda on Wednesday morning, a ponyboy session on Thursday evening and a Belinda stage show on Friday evening. Ben is going to be a busy boy.

Now read on...

*****

Carl was already in the car when it arrived to pick me up on Tuesday evening. We chatted together as it whisked us down into one of the better parts of Knightsbridge, finally coming to rest in some mews behind some very grand buildings. We were led through what was obviously the tradesmen's entrance to a room where we found several people of around my age waiting. I say people because, unlike all the other places I had worked, here there were as many girls as boys. However, girl or boy, we all had that slightly haunted look that came with the job and it was clear we were all there for the same thing: to entertain the punters.

The second thing I noticed was the range of ethnicity. White, black, African, Asian or European, the punters then they were going to be able to take their pick from both genders and a pretty complete range of skin tones. A veritable smorgasbord of sexual entertainment.

I was still musing on this when, suddenly, I realised that I knew one of the girls. Standing not ten feet away was Jenny from my Social Studies course. It had taken a moment or two to place her; she was so out of context and her clothing was so different from the rather prim and proper outfits she wore to college. I was still staring at her when our eyes met and I saw a flicker of both fear and surprise cross her face. It was probably matched by similar emotions crossing mine. She gave a slight shake of her head and I understood completely. She did not want to be acknowledged and, to be fair, neither did I. I turned back and continued chatting to Carl.

A major-domo arrived, counted heads and ordered us to get changed into the uniforms they were about to provide. I should have guessed what was coming. For the girls this consisted of the pretty standard 'kinky' maid's uniform where the skirt was short enough and flared enough to demonstrate that panties were not involved anywhere combined with a bustier that lifted and offered the breasts rather than covering them. For us boys it was the same sort of split side running shorts that were worn at the after race parties. This was turned into a waiter's uniform by the simple addition of a cuffs and a collar complete with a fake bow tie, the sort of thing beloved of pub stripper-grams. 

Once we were all changed the major-domo lined us up and checked us over, making sure that we met his exacting standards. Then we were trooped through to a kitchen area where there were trays of canapés and drinks waiting. Just as with the after race parties we were each given a tray and then taken through to the main body of the house where a dinner party was just getting under way.

At first there wasn't much to do. The guests were few and far between and all we had to do was stand around looking decorative and offering drinks or canapés when appropriate. This gave me a chance to observe and try to work out who it was that was hosting the party. As far as I could make out we were at some quasi-official do sponsored by one of the central African states. To be sure the hosts were had the deep black skin tones I associate with central Africa and, while I couldn't place the accent, it had a definite African lilt. The guests, on the other hand, were a mixture of all sorts and, while my judgement may have been biased by my role there, they all seemed to be just as shady and corrupt as the guests at the post race parties. 

As more and more guests arrived the party became more and more animated. However, we waiters and waitresses were still mostly ignored and left alone. At this point the contents of the trays we were carrying were of more interest than we who carried the trays. That didn't stop my backside from being groped from time to time.

After an hour or so the party goers were all called to the dinner table. It says much about the scale of the house that the dining room could seat them all. We boys were recruited as serving staff while the girls were assigned to pouring the various wines. 

During the meal we waiting staff were mere functionaries and not worthy of notice. It didn't seem to phase anyone that we were all but naked; they were merely interested in having their food and wine served efficiently. One of the girls was nudged by a clumsy guest which, in turn, made her spill the wine she was pouring but this just resulted in nothing more than a sharp rebuke.

The wine had been flowing freely and, after we had cleared away the desert course, the diners were relaxing over brandy and cigars. Many stayed at the table but double doors were opened onto a drawing room with groups of armchairs and about half the guests made their way through. Under orders from the major-domo we serving staff cleared away the rest of the table, taking away the used dishes and, inevitably, replacing them with discreet bowls of condoms. With no more food to be served or dishes to be cleared we were arranged around the edges of the two rooms, quietly waiting.

And we didn't have long to wait. The principle host, who others had been addressing as 'ambassador', got up from the table, and, along with one of the guests, wandered about inspecting the serving staff. Between them they picked out three of the girls who they took back to the table and stripped of their bustiers. As far as I could tell there was some sort of discussion over breast sizes, about how African girls have fuller breasts than their Asian cousins and, after a certain amount of poking and groping, the winner, or should that be loser, was down on her knees, opening the fly of the guest and fishing out his prick. That didn't mean that the other two were reprieved. One had to service the ambassador, the other the guest sitting on the ambassador's other side.

And that opened the floodgates. It seemed that a post-dinner blow job was just the thing to go with the brandy and cigars. Admittedly, at first, it was only the girls but soon enough we boys were also called into action. I was brought over to one of the hosts who was busy chatting to a businessman who, by his accent, was American and, probably, Texan. The Texan already had a girl working away between his thighs but that didn't stop him from talking.

"So, Darweshi, what's with all these boys?" he asked as I approached. "Look at this one. Even his toenails are painted. What a faggot!"

I blushed. I had forgotten that my toenails were still varnished a bright scarlet.

"Oh, the boys can give just as much pleasure as the girls, sometimes more." He tugged down my shorts and turned me around, bending me over the table. "Tell me you wouldn't want to fuck a tight little arse like this one." He gave my buttocks a hearty slap. "I know I will before the evening is out."

"I didn't know you were that sort of guy."

"I'm not." Darweshi laughed dismissively. "It's just that sometimes I like plain cooking and, sometimes, I like things a bit spicier. But don't take my word for it; push that little tart aside and let him take over. If you really don't like it we can swap back again but I'm betting that you'll find that bit of extra spice just the thing to make a change from the normal."

"Really, He's that good?"

"That different. Try it and see."

"OK, just for you, Darweshi." He pushed the girl between his thighs out of the way and, with my shorts still around my knees, I knelt down and took her place.

I knew what I had to do. It wasn't just the blow job; that was a given. Darweshi had promised the Texan that I would be better than the girl and that was what I had to try and achieve. If I failed to live up to the mark, it was just the sort of thing that would get back to Mr Mason and the consequences of that didn't bear thinking about. I set to with an enthusiasm that belied my actual feelings.

"God, look at the little faggot, he's loving this, isn't he?"

"Oh, yes. The boys and girls that the agency supplies are very willing. We wouldn't have it any other way. If you have any... special interests then all you have to do is ask. They're paid to be versatile and, after your generous offer this afternoon, the very least we can do is make sure you have the best of what's available. We do, of course have private rooms if you would prefer a little privacy but, as you can see," he waved his arm indicating the rest of the room, "there's no need to be shy."

I glanced sideways and, although my view was restricted, I could see that I was far from the only one of the waiting staff down on their knees. It wasn't quite a full blown orgy but it was fast heading that way. Darweshi had unzipped his fly and the girl discarded by the Texan was busy fishing out his prick and slipping on a condom. 

And all the while the two men chatted away as if this were perfectly normal. 

"If you'll excuse me a moment," Darweshi said after a while, "I'll just..."

He grabbed the hair of the girl between his thighs and used it to pull her to her feet. He spun her round and bent her over the table before coming up behind her and plunging into her arse. The Texan followed suit and, moments later, I was bent over next to the girl as the Texan plundered my backside.

My face was pressed to the table and, to prevent my nose from being crushed, I had turned my head sideways. That meant that I was looking straight at the girl and, as our respective clients pounded into us, we shared a smile of recognition. Not so long ago I would have wondered how a nice looking girl like her could have ended up in this position; now I knew. We were birds of a feather. 

It didn't take long before first the Texan and then Darweshi reached their climax and, after a couple of moments to get their breath back, they returned to their seats. The girl and I remained bent over the table until, rather impatiently, we were dismissed by Darweshi.

"Not so fast, fag boy, I haven't finished with you," the Texan called after me. "And lose the shorts."

I turned back and he crooked his finger to indicate that I should stand next to him. I took off my shorts and went to stand beside him. He grabbed me by the shoulder and spun me around, looking at me closely.

"Well, I ain't no faggot but I will admit this one has got the sweetest little ass. As you say, it's... different." He turned me back to face him. And look at his dinkie little wiener. I do believe he's got a boner. I guess his sort really do liked being fucked up the ass." He reached down and held my prick with the tips of his fingers. I did have a bit of an erection, anal sex does that to me, and now, with his fingers manipulating my prick, I was stiffening up nicely.

"Are you a betting man, Darweshi?"

"I like the occasional wager. Why, what do you suggest?"

"This little fag is about to pop his cork and I've got two thousand dollars which say he can shoot his load farther than any other fag you want to choose. Are we on?"

"Any I choose?"

"Any one at all."

"That's a brave bet. Let me go and see what's available."

Darweshi got up and wandered around the room looking at the other boys. He didn't have much choice. Most were already taken. However as news of the contest caught on, others were keen to participate. It was therefore decided that each 'owner' would place a thousand dollars on the table and we would all compete at once with the winning owner taking all. And that's where the Texan suggested another rule. Each owner would be responsible for doing whatever they felt appropriate to stimulate their particular boy. The competitors would have to stand with their hands clamped behind their necks.

Under the Texan's direction they set out a row of chairs and on these our 'owners' sat with their knees apart while we competitors stood in front of them facing outwards. The ambassador was appointed judge and, on his orders, each owner reached around and started wanking his particular boy.

I don't know whether the Texan was perceptive of just lucky but this appealed to the exhibitionist in me. Sure, none of the boys available were exactly shrinking violets but the same part of me that got off on being abused as Belinda Bombshell was getting off on this. What also helped was that, unseen by the others, the Texan had slipped a condom over his thumb and had shoved it up my backside. Meanwhile he was snarling obscenities about what perverted faggots all us English boys were and how pathetic we were when compared to real men like those from Texas and how, if he had me back home I'd be fucked until...

I couldn't suppress a groan of pleasure as, deep, deep into my role as fag boy, my prick exploded with pleasure. The Texan gave a wild 'yee-ha!' as he pumped the spunk from me and, to his delight, it shot out arching maybe as much as four feet or so in front of me. 

As I recovered my breath I looked around at the other 'performers'. While they were all playing along at having the best time of all it was easy to see that, for some, their hearts weren't in it. 

Maybe I shouldn't have been proud that I won. After all, being the most aroused by being abused in this way is hardly an achievement to boast about. However it delighted the Texan and, suddenly, I was his favourite little fag boy and the rest of the evening was spent knelt at his side as, slowly, the party drank itself into submission. That didn't stop him loaning me out a couple of times, once for a blow job and once to a guest who tried to sodomise me but was too drunk to get it up. Moreover, when it was finally time for him to leave, after demanding one last blow job, he told me to 'open wide'. When I did so he stuffed a wodge of notes in my mouth which, when I counted up later, came to a thousand dollars. Not a bad tip for a night's work.

A pale dawn was rising by the time Carl and I were sharing a taxi back to East London. All I wanted was a shower and then bed but I had my gym session to go to followed by a photo shoot as Belinda.

The gym session was pretty low key. However, I was working away on the treadmill when Mr Mason arrived and, in preparation for the photo shoot, checked that I had shaved all over. He reminded me that I was due at the studio for nine o'clock and that I should bring along all my Belinda outfits. I promised to do just that grateful that he didn't know about the dress Jed had bought for me. At least there was one outfit left unsullied.

The photographer was no more an early-bird than I am and we were both a bit slow off the mark. However, he put on some dance music and had me dance along to it and, after a while, we were doing fine. We started with the 'Belinda as sex kitten' shots and then moved on to the 'Belinda as high class escort'. The photographer even gave me plenty of hints about how to appear alluring; how to flaunt the feminine whiles I did have and, more importantly, appear to flaunt those I didn't. 

We were still working away when Mr Mason arrived. He looked through the shots taken so far and, grudgingly admitted to being satisfied. However, we hadn't done any with me wearing the baby doll so we got on with those with Mr Mason overseeing.

And then, as I was washing off the make up and changing back from Belinda to Ben I overheard Mr Mason and the photographer chatting through the thin partition wall.

"So, you can have all this on line by this afternoon?" 

"No problem. He's pretty much a natural so they won't need much photoshopping. I should be finished by three or four in the afternoon. I'll give you a call if you like."

"Thanks. Usual rates."

"Usual rates but you'll make that back in no time with this one."

I finished getting changed and carefully packed away my clothes.

That afternoon I should have been at lectures but, quite frankly, they had gone by the wayside. I was far too busy working for Mr Mason to attend to my degree. Anyway, I hadn't slept in over thirty six hours so I just collapsed on my bed and, within moments, I was asleep.

I woke around five feeling like shit. I made myself a cup of coffee and powered up my laptop. In my naivety I hadn't even realised that Mr Mason would have a web site but, as he photographer had said that the Belinda photos would be on-line by four, I wanted to check how they came out. I fired up my web browser and googled Belinda Bombshell.

It didn't take long to track down the web site and, when I opened it up, I was in for a few surprises. Firstly I was on there as College Boy with a number of photos from the race meetings. I should have expected that and I also should have expected the pricing. I was down as 'out call only' with prices at one fifty an hour and seven fifty for overnight visits. I knew Mr Mason would be taking his cut. Now I could appreciate just how much of a cut it was. 

And, on another part of the web site, there was Belinda. She was down as a pre-op transvestite. I suppose that was accurate enough although pre-op was pushing it as, if I had anything to do with it, there was never going to be an op. However, within the confines of on-line escort ads I suppose it was as accurate as they come. The pricing was pretty much the same as College Boy but, again, I could be sure that Mr Mason would take his generous cut.

Out of idle curiosity I searched through the site until I came across Jenny, or Rosalind to use her professional name. I wondered if she, too, had been tempted by 'easy' money and was now locked in, forced to work for Mr Mason or suffer dire consequences. 

Still, as Jed had made quite clear, there was no room for self pity. We had all made poor choices and now had to make the best of a bad job. 

I needed a meal although, heaven knows whether it would count as breakfast, lunch or dinner. To this end I went out to the local kebab house and bought myself a donner and I was still eating it on the way back to my flat when my mobile went. With a sinking feeling I fished it out of my pocket and answered it.

"Hello?"

"Belinda's got a date. You're to wear the black dress. Pick up is at eight o'clock. Understood."

"But... but I'm not ready to go out as Belinda."





Pony Boy Ch. 08



"That's not what Mr Mason says. Eight o'clock and no fuck ups."

And with that the phone went dead.

I rushed home and, with the kebab now lying heavy on my stomach, started getting ready as Belinda. A quick shower and shave made a start and then I put on a pair of black lacy panties to get me in the mood. 

As for the make up, it wasn't exactly second nature but I was getting more adept and it didn't take too long before I was slipping on the wig and staring Belinda in the face. She would do, she would have to do. Then it was time for the clothes I started with stockings and a suspender belt to hold them up before wriggling into the LBD. I then stepped into my open toed sandals with the four inch heel and looked at myself in the mirror.

Would I pass muster? All I could see were the glaring imperfections. However good the make-up there was no getting away from the fact that I was, so obviously, a boy in a dress. Going out with Tracy to the pub across the road was one thing. I had no idea where this assignation would take me. I walked back and forth. I was getting used to heels and could walk quite smoothly in them. If only I had tits. Still, it was too late now to do anything about it. I would have to do the best with what I had.

I didn't have a jacket so I didn't have any useful pockets but, for the first time in my life, I had a handbag. It wasn't particularly big but condoms, lube, my makeup repair kit and a bit of spare change for the taxi home all fitted in just fine. Then I remembered what Tracy had said about the baby doll. I fetched it out along with the shoulder bag I had bought to keep it in. It looked a bit awkward but no more than the rest of the imperfections and I could live with it. I glanced at the clock. The car would be here in any minute but I was ready to go.

The driver took me into the West End and dropped me outside a rather posh hotel.

"You're to meet in the bar. Punter's name is Simmons."

"But..."

"Don't ask me, sunshine. I'm just the driver. You now know as much as I do. Go on, hop it. I've got other jobs waiting."

OK, this was the real test. Could I pass myself off as Belinda? One thing was for certain; I didn't have many other options and certainly none that let me avoid Archie's wrath. Trying my best to remain gracious I got out of the car and, feeling that the whole world was looking straight at me, made my way to the front door of the hotel. The doorman gave me a long cool look and I wasn't sure I could make it past him so, rather that try for discretion, I went for the up-front approach.

"Excuse me," I said, making my voice as feminine as possible. "I'm supposed to meet one of the guests here, a Mr Simmons, in the bar. Could you possibly point me in the right direction."

There was a pause while he decided whether to let me in or throw me out. I think the fact that I had given a name for the person I was meeting was the decider because he nodded his head and replied, "certainly, miss. Through the lobby and that door on the left."

Feeling as if his, and the receptionist's, eyes were following me every tottering step of the way I headed towards the bar. There I found the usual bored barman polishing glasses and keeping half an eye on the match on the telly. I looked around. The room was otherwise empty. I went up to the bar, dumped my shoulder bag on the floor and perched on a bar stool.

"Can I help you, miss?"

"A white wine and soda, if you'd be so kind."

"Are you a resident here."

"No, I'm meeting a friend."

"In which case..."

"Ah, Belinda! I've just received your text saying you'd arrived. I do hope you haven't been waiting long."

I looked to my side to see what had to be Mr Simmons bustling in. He guessed him to be around fifty, running to fat and more than a trifle bald and very much the business man. I hadn't sent any texts so my guess was that the driver texted him as soon as I had been dropped off and he must have come down immediately. Whichever, I was glad to be rescued from the suspicious mind of the barman whom, I'm sure, had sussed me for exactly what I was - in every sense of the word. He came up and we kissed cheeks.

"Good evening, sir. I was just getting this young lady a white wine and soda. What can I get for you?"

"Oh, a whiskey please. Is that Glenmorangie I see behind the bar."

"It is indeed."

While the barman poured our drinks Mr Simmons stood beside me and then, having put the drinks on his room tab, he suggested we find a quiet corner. He found a secluded alcove where he sat at one end of a sofa and I sat at the other. I tried to look demure and fluttered my eyelashes at him.

"So, Belinda, it's a pleasure to meet you."

"The pleasure's all mine, Mr Simmons."

"Please, you don't have to be so formal. You must call me Ray."

"Of course, Ray. Now tell me a bit about yourself. Are you a visitor here in London?"

It turned out that Ray was the manager of a carpeting firm from Bradford. I hung onto his every word and learnt far more than I needed to about the world of carpeting in Bradford and his favourite hobby, bowls. 

Somewhere along the line we finished our drinks and he asked the barman to order him a taxi. And then we stood up and, with his arm around my waist, he led me out into the street.

This was far from the first time I had stepped out as a woman but, on each previous occasion, it had been as 'naughty schoolgirl' Belinda. This incarnation was something far grander and, as such, I was being treated with far more respect. This was Ray and Belinda, dressed to the nines, heading out for a night on the town. This actually helped reinforce the illusion and, as he opened the taxi door for me and helped me in, I felt one hundred percent a woman. 

The restaurant was posh and discreet and all the tables were in quiet alcoves. I have no idea whether the Maitre d' sussed me or not but if he did he didn't show it and I was already beyond caring. 

We sat side by side at the table and Ray had hardly ordered the celebratory bottle of champagne before I felt his hand on my knee. He even kept it there when the waiter came to take our orders. I had already eaten so I wasn't hungry but it fitted my feminine image to settle for a light salad while he went for the rump steak.

"Do you know, I've got a daughter just like you," he said as we came to the coffee and brandies. His hand returned to my knee and started to wander north.

"Really?" I smiled inside at the depth of his fantasy. 

"Pretty little thing but can be quite a handful sometimes. Gets into all sorts of scrapes. When she's been naughty I have to be quite firm with her. I'm an old fashioned man and I believe in old fashioned remedies. She thinks she's all grown up but when she's been naughty there's nothing like an old fashioned over the knee spanking to put her back on the straight and narrow. What about you? Have you been a naughty girl?"

OK, so now we knew where the evening was heading. I had no idea whether this daughter of his was real or just another part of the fantasy but, right there, right then, my job was to take her place. I quickly made up some nonsense about a boyfriend who I had flirted with and who I had led on. All the while he demanded details and, all the while, his hand probed farther and farther up my thigh. I could sense his pleasure when he got to the top of my stocking and found my suspenders. I lowered my eyes and tried to look alluring.

"You have been a naughty girl, haven't you?"

"I'm sorry, daddy."

"Sorry is not good enough this time, is it?"

"Please, daddy, please punish me and make it better."

"Waiter, cheque please."

With almost indecent haste we were back at his hotel and going straight up to his room. 

"Excuse me a moment. I'll just..." I inclined my head towards the en-suite.

"Don't be long."

I wasn't. It didn't take more than a moment to slip out of my clothes and hang them on the back of the door. Then I fetched out the baby-doll and put it on. I quickly checked my make-up in the mirror and, with everything looking fine, I took a condom from my bag and, discreetly palming it, returned to his suite.

Tracy had been spot about the baby-doll. Ray nearly came on the spot.

"Please, daddy, I've been a naughty girl. I need to be punished to make me behave better."

That, for him, was just the icing on the cake. He stood up and, grabbing me by the ear dragged me over to the bed. In moments I was across his knee, the back of my baby-doll was around my shoulders and my panties were around my knees.

He laid into me with some force. Oh, sure, it wasn't as painful as the caning I got from Jed but it wasn't love taps either. I squealed and squirmed, partially because that was what he wanted but partially because it did bloody well hurt. However, he gripped my wrist with his free hand and held it in the small of my back and, squirm as much as I wanted, I wasn't going anywhere.

And all the while I was pleading, begging, 'daddy' to punish me for being a naughty girl and to make me better.

When, finally, he had had enough he let go of my wrist and I slumped to the floor to kneel beside him.

"Are you better now? Will you behave in future?"

"Yes, daddy, I'll be a good little girl, honest I will."

"And are you grateful to daddy for making you better."

"Yes, daddy, thank you daddy."

"Then say thank you properly."

I didn't need to be told what came next. I reached for his fly, pulled down the zip and hauled out his prick. With the ease that comes from much practice I put the condom on and took him into my mouth.

And that was all he needed. I had hardly started when he gave an enormous groan and filled the condom. He grabbed my hair, or rather my wig, and pulled me down onto him so hard I was worried my wig would come off and then, after half a dozen thrusts, he collapsed back, exhausted and replete. 

"That was... that was... that was fantastic," he panted.

"Thank you, daddy."

"No, thank you, Belinda."

There was a bit of an awkward silence. I wasn't sure what he wanted. I just remained knelt at the side of the bed waiting.

"You're a lovely girl, Belinda, but I think it's time you went," he said finally.

"I'll just..."

"Of course."

I got up off the floor and made my way to the en-suite. My mascara was a total disaster but, thanks to the bits and pieces in my bag, I was able to patch it all up and look presentable. Even so it must have been a good fifteen minutes before I re-emerged all dressed up and presentable.

"Thank you, daddy. I've had a super time," I went up and kissed him on the lips.

"I'll, err, call you a taxi. If you go and wait in the lobby it shouldn't be more than a minute or so."

"Thank you. I'll be off then."

"And this is for you."

He handed me a sealed envelope which I dropped in my shoulder bag. He seemed rather keen to be shot of me so I gave him one more peck on the cheek and left.

Standing in the lobby of the hotel waiting for the taxi I felt every inch exactly what I was: a transsexual prostitute who had just serviced her client. Her client? I guessed that, as long as I was dressed as Belinda, I would think of myself as Belinda. The night receptionist kept a close eye on me. She knew exactly what I was and was as keen to get rid of me as I was to go. Fortunately it wasn't long before the taxi arrived and, thank heavens, the driver wasn't one of the chatty ones. I sat gingerly in the back, my battered buttocks sore against the seats, and checked out the envelope. A nice round ton. At least 'daddy' tipped.

On Thursday I had nothing planned until the race meeting at seven thirty. I suppose I should have gone to some lectures but term was all but over and I wasn't sure how long my university career would last. Instead I took my clothes to the laundrette and dry cleaners as appropriate and, while out, dropped in on Mr H's office to collect my wages.

Of course, when I got there, Mr H reminded me that a large part of the money would be used to pay off the clothing bill. Even though I had clocked up four hours with the Embassy gig and three with Mr Simmons I still owed Mr H over four hundred pounds so there was only around two fifty in my pocket. Mind you, with Mr Simmons' tip and the Texan's generosity I wasn't exactly short. 

That evening, as the minibus did its rounds, there was a new face among the ponies. When he got on he got the same hazing that I had got and, because I noticeably didn't join in, he came and sat next to me. To my jaundiced eye he looked incredibly young but, as he chatted away nervously, he let slip that, like me, he was at university which put him at eighteen or nineteen minimum.

"I won't have to do anything sexual, will I? Mr H said there would just be a certain amount of groping."

"You'll be OK," I assured him. OK, so I was lying through my teeth but the poor kid was nervous enough without knowing exactly what he was in for. And how was I to know? Maybe he would only be subjected to a little groping.

As we went through the pre-show showers I could see that his nerves, if anything, were getting worse. Jed sidled up to me.

"Recognise yourself?"

"Was I really that bad."

"Yep."

"I should warn him."

"No you shouldn't. He'll learn. Same as we all did. Look at you now. Right little tart. Mind you, he looks fit and he's a non smoker. You might find you have some competition for a change. My guess is that Mr Mason, seeing how much he's making out of you, is now aiming to recruit some more college kids."

I looked across at the new pony. He did look rather sweet. He was young and clean and had the cutest little arse. I could be sure the punters would go for him. Jed was right, I had some competition, I was no longer the new kid in town.

Jed's forecast that he would be a real contender in the races was backed up when Mr H did the seeding. It was clear that he was looking to get a final between the new kid and myself. The fact that, as far as the punters were concerned, Jed and I were still deadly rivals, was also taken into account but it wasn't long before we were all sorted out and taken out to our respective sulkies. 

Fortunately I still had Pete as my jockey and, before he fitted me with my bridle, I asked what he thought of the new pony.

"Little Angel, that's what Mr H is calling him. Yeah, he's fast and he's fit but he's new and we can use that against him. You and I can take him, easy as pie. Now, open wide." He buckled the bit across my mouth and that ended the conversation.

We went through the ritual of putting on my harness and, when it came to inserting the plug, it just slipped in fine. I did hear a squeak of pain from across the warehouse. I guessed that Little Angel was finding what is was like to have a butt plug inserted for the first time. Part of me was sympathetic. The other part, like Jed, had a 'he'll learn' attitude.

He certainly caused a stir among the punters. There were the usual crowd who hung around me pre race but, even blindfolded, I could tell that there were fewer than usual and their main topic of conversation seemed to be comparing me with Little Angel, a comparison I didn't always come out best on. I know it was a bit childish of me but I was getting fed up of hearing about him. Jed's petulance at my first race meeting was much more understandable now.

I got through the first two heats fine and, without too many problems, defeated Jed in the semi finals. All the while I could hear that Little Angel was winning his heats and becoming more and more the fancied. Indeed, when we came to the final, he was the punter's favourite to win. That rankled.

We were led out to the start line, our blinkers were opened and the starter dropped his flag. We were off.

Almost immediately he pulled ahead. Bloody hell he was fast! I had to put in everything I had just to stay in touch. It was an eight lap race and I was prepared to wait my time but, unlike the others, he showed no sign of weakening, no sign of slowing. By the time we got to the seventh lap I knew I would have to dig deep.

But it was Pete who won the race for me. As we came to the last turn but three he gave that little flick of the reins that told me to go for the inside. I couldn't see the gap but I trusted Pete and, sure enough, as we went into the turn, Little Angel was going too fast and swung wide. 

Using every ounce of my strength I forced my way through on the inside and, just, managed to keep the sulky upright. Now it was a matter of holding him off for a lap and a half. The crowd were going wild. This was a really tight race between two favourites and both ponies were carrying a lot of money. 

I could tell from the frantic flicking of the reins that Little Angel was gaining on me and Pete was trying to squeeze out every last drop of my strength and endurance. I guess that, in the end, the gym sessions paid off because, despite Little Angel's best efforts, I managed to cross the line a couple of feet in front of him.

There were cheers for me and even a few boos for Little Angel as, triumphant, I was led back to the centre circle. I could tell that Mr H was delighted; he always was when the favourite falls. But more than that. We had put up a real spectacle. Even those who had lost money on Little Angel agreed that it had been a thrilling race.

I was given quite a while to recover while the other ponies were run in the ad-hoc races but I knew I would be called upon again. What I hadn't bargained on, although maybe I should have, was what I heard over the Tannoy.

"Ladies and gentlemen. We are proud to announce a special race. A rematch of the final between College Boy and Little Angel. Mr Mason has put up a special prize of two hundred pounds for the winner and, if that were not incentive enough, the loser will give the winner a blow job right here, in front of the judges table. This race will start in ten minutes so make sure to place your bets right away."

This took me back to my first time. It was an exact repeat of what had happened between Jed and myself. I wondered just how much the outcome would be determined by our racing and how much would be down to other factors.

In the end it was subtle but it was definitely fixed. Once again Little Angel got ahead early, once again I struggled to keep up but managed to keep in touch and, once again, I went for the inside on the third corner from home.

But this time, although at first I was getting 'go for the inside' messages from Pete, just as I had committed myself, I felt a tug on my reins telling me to go for the outside. That was enough to put me off and I missed my chance. And then, as we came to the second to last corner, again I got mixed signals. Someone, my guess would be Mr Mason, had got to Pete and, without his guidance, I was lost. Oh, sure, I tried my hardest but part of sulky racing is team work between pony and jockey and without that the best I could do was to come in a respectable second.

Now I fully understood how Jed had felt. Not only had I lost the race but my humiliation would be completed as I was publicly forced to go down on this... this upstart. I tried to bottle up my anger but with mixed results.

We were led to the centre circle and lined up facing each other in front of the judges tables. Little Angel's prick was unbuckled from his harness and fitted with a condom. I noted that he didn't seem to be quite so shy now.

And then, in front of everyone, I got down on my knees, the bit was removed from my bridle and sucked him off. 

Sure, when compared to being sodomised for the Belinda Bombshell show this humiliation might not seem like much but, as a way of reinforcing that I had been well and truly beaten, it could not have been surpassed. The crowd around us were cheering, or rather jeering, and many who had felt that I had been too high and mighty by being 'party only' were glad to see my downfall.




Pony Boy Ch. 08



I guessed that Little Angel had never had a blow job in public before and it took him quite a while to get there but then, I also knew from when I had been on the receiving end that he was taking his time so as to bask in the adoration. After what seemed like forever he gave a shudder and, finally, came.

I looked up at him and he looked down at me. Even though he tried to hide it I could see the triumph in his eyes. Welcome to my world, Little Angel, and enjoy it while you can. With each step, with each blow job, you're getting deeper and deeper into the trap. Soon it will be you on your knees, just like me.

When the racing was done Little Angel seemed bemused to find himself showering again. And then, when we were all getting dressed in the racing shorts, I saw the light dawn for him. This was not over yet.

As we were getting into the minibuses to take us to the party I could see Little Angel torn between trying to get next to me to find out what was next and keeping away from me because of how I had been humiliated on his behalf. In the end he wangled the other minibus and, for a while, that was the last I saw of him. 

Jed, on the other hand, was on the same minibus. He spent some time loudly teasing me that there was a new boy in town and that I was no longer top pony. However, just as he was being at his meanest and nastiest he gave me a wink and I realised just how much this was all for show. The Jed that bought me dresses was strictly confined to his fortress. Out in public we were still playing at being bitter rivals.

When we got to the party I was, at first, handed one of the trays of canapés and sent out to fend for myself. I hadn't got far before one of groups of guests, seeing the previously unavailable College Boy free to the first who asked, called me over and demanded that I spend time with them. I was immediately divested of my running shorts and, after chopping out the lines of coke, set to giving blow-jobs to those who required it.

However, I hadn't been there long before one of the waitresses came over. 

"Excuse me, gentlemen, but Archie has requested that I send College Boy over. If you have no objections..."

"Objections, for Archie. No, no, of course not. Of you go, boy. Don't keep Archie waiting." It was quite clear that the guests respected Archie's role in the organisation and whatever Archie wanted that was what he got. I got up off my knees and, after giving the guests a little curtsey, followed the waitress to the alcove where Archie was holding court.

"Ah, College Boy, good of you to come."

I just kept silent. I had more sense than to get entangled with Archie more than was strictly necessary.

"What's up? Cat got your tongue? Well, that's not important. Get on your knees and get your laughing gear round my chopper pronto. And I want you to make it look good but I'm not to come, well, not until I say so."

I knew better than to disobey so, as quickly as I could, I got down to business. I had only been there a few minutes before Mr H arrived and, to my complete lack of surprise, he had Little Angel with him.

"Here you go, Archie. Some of the lads waylaid him but he's here now,"

Come here, boy, closer. Come and stand next to Archie."

Archie leaned forward and, with me still sucking him off, reached for Little Angel's balls.

"I lost a lot of money on you. I had you down to go all the way."

"Sorry, I'm sorry."

"Sorry doesn't cut the mustard, sunshine. You let this little runt beat you. Mind you, you did all right in the re-match. Why did you lose?"

"I... I misjudged it."

"So it's all your fault that I lost my money."

"Yes, sir, sorry sir, please, sir, please..."

I could tell from Little Angel's voice that he was in agony, that Archie was twisting off his balls the way he had twisted off mine.

"And they tell me you don't put out. Is that right?"

"Yes, sir."

"Why's that? Too good for us, are you? Look at College Boy here, down on his knees where he belongs. Mind you, you know all about that one. He sucked you off earlier. So, you're prepared to take blow-jobs but not hand them out, is that it?"

"Please! Mr H promised."

"But I didn't promise. First you lose me money and now you won't put out. What sort of pathetic pony boy are you?"

"Please, sir, you're hurting me. Please, please, pleeeeease!"

"Having fun, Archie."

Mr Mason had arrived to save Little Angel in exactly the same way that he had 'saved' me all those weeks ago. Now I could see the trap so clearly, and I could see it closing around Little Angel. 

"Just getting to know the new ponyboy."

"He'll be a gelding if you carry on like that. Let him go, Archie."

"He's fucking useless anyway. Someone take him away, will you."

Sobbing and bent double, Little Angel was led away. Mr Mason followed shortly after. And all the while I just kept myself busy between Archie's knees.

"There, that's business out of the way. Now it's party time. OK, College Boy, stop fucking around down there and get on with it."

Archie sat back while I gave him the best blow job I could. Every time I had any contact with him it gave me more reason to be scared of him. Thankfully it wasn't long before he finished and I was ordered up onto my feet. This time it was my balls Archie took in his hand and squeezed.

"I do hope you've learnt enough not to cause any trouble. You're not going to cause me trouble, are you?"

"No, Archie, of course not Archie."

"Because, with a little training, Little Angel is going to be a nice little earner, same as you are. Got me?"

I just nodded.

"And, if anything should go wrong, if someone were to do anything that might prevent that, well, that would be most upsetting. Are you going to do anything to upset me?"

"Of course not, Archie."

"Make sure you don't."

With that I was dismissed and thrown back into the party, as it were. Of course, by this point, as I was the only ponyboy left, it wasn't long before I was claimed and, for the rest of the evening, I was pandering to the various appetites of one of the groups of guests.

On the other hand, although I was well used and abused, I didn't get taken home for the night which meant that, when the party finally wound down, I was one of those waiting for the minibus to take me home. Over in a corner of the kitchen was a very contrite Little Angel. I thought about going over and consoling him but there was not that much I could say. The obvious thing was to warn him of what lay ahead but with Archie's threats still ringing in my ears my only option was to keep schtum. 

However, I couldn't stop Little Angel sitting next to me on the minibus.

"Hi, my name's Jack. Sorry about..."

"The blow job? Don't worry about it. It wasn't the first I've given and it won't be the last. Oh, and my name's Ben."

"That Archie, he's really scary, isn't he."

"Yeah. You really don't want to upset him."

"But Mr Mason seems OK. He's been really kind to me tonight. Not like all the others. I feel like I can trust him."

Archie's threats came back to me and, heaven help me, there was only one thing I could say.

"Yeah, he's OK."

The minibus rolled through the night taking us home.

*****

More soon



Pony Boy Ch. 09



The story so far...

Ben, desperate for a little extra cash, discovered that there was good money to be made running in races as a 'ponyboy'. Despite being assured that the worst he would be subjected to would be a 'certain amount of groping' he has found that this led, inexorably, to a life as a prostitute. Moreover, Andy Mason, his pimp, along with Archie, Mr Mason's enforcer, has made it quite clear that, as long as there is money to be made from renting him out, quitting is not an option.

One of the many indignities Ben has been forced into is performing in a sex show where, cross dressed as naughty schoolgirl "Belinda Bombshell", he is caned and sodomised for the entertainment of the punters. The show, and Belinda in particular, is such a hit that Mr Mason has seen yet another money making opportunity and he is keen that Ben should perform as Belinda as much as possible. But, more than just the stage show, he is now looking to make even more money by renting Ben out as a transvestite escort.

But, for all Ben is finding this demeaning and degrading, he is also discovering sides to his sexuality that had previously lain hidden. He may loathe Belinda and all she stands for but that doesn't stop him getting a certain frisson of pleasure whenever he puts on her panties.

And, all the while, there's the complicating factor of his growing relationship with taciturn and secretive Jed, at first his arch rival but, latterly, his lover. 

And now there's a new kid in town. Jack, racing as Little Angel, who has been recruited as a ponyboy and is being drawn in further using exactly the same tricks that they used on Ben. And while Ben is sympathetic, Archie has warned him not to do anything that would hinder Little Angel's 'training'.

Now read on...

As ever, after the post-race parties, I had just enough time to get home and get changed before heading off down to the gym. I was completely exhausted from the pony races and the party but it wasn't just the threats from Mr Mason and Archie that made sure I attended. Now that I had real competition in the racing I was anxious to keep up my fitness levels. Crazy as it seems, despite all the other stuff that went down, I was still keen to be top pony, still keen to show this newcomer that he couldn't have it all his own way.

I was busy on the treadmill when Mr Mason arrived. He came over and leant on the handlebars so he was standing next to me. As ever he looked me up and down, an owner inspecting his goods. I reached for the off switch but he brushed my hand away.

"Good morning, Belinda. I've had a Mr Simmons on the phone singing your praises. A most satisfied customer. He tells me he definitely wants to book you next time he's in town."

"I'm glad to hear it," I replied rather breathlessly.

"Good, because judging by the hits we're getting on the website, he's not going to be the only one. This has all the hallmarks of really good little earner. Funny how many of the punters want a girlfriend who has that little bit extra." He reached down and cuddled my balls through my shorts. "Talking of which, how do you think young Jack would look in panties? Maybe we could sell the two of you as a sister act. Belinda and Jackie Bombshell. How about that for an idea?"

"I'm not sure he's ready for that yet."

"Sure, but with a little bit of persuasion... After all, it didn't take much to turn you around. One moment you're a shy little virgin and the next you're the randiest little slut on my books. I dare say you'd turn tricks for free if I didn't give you paying customers. In the meanwhile young Jackie boy has certainly spiced up the pony races; given you some real competition rather than the broken down crocks you're used to racing against. I think I'm going to have to recruit more college students, help them pay off their student loans. What do you think?" 

I just pounded away on the treadmill. I knew better than to rise to Mr Mason's bating. 

"But I'm not just here to chew the fat. I've got a nice little Belinda date for you tonight. Car pick-up at seven thirty; I think you ought to wear that blue Chinese number. And then, tomorrow, I've got you and Jed doing the naughty schoolgirl routine for Billy Jenkins's birthday party. Car pick-up at seven. I'd like to see you trying out the new gymslip for that one. I'm still waiting on confirmation for a booking on Sunday but it's looking hopeful so don't make any plans."

"Mr Mason..."

"Yes, sonny?"

"About Easter."

"What about Easter?"

"My parents... they're expecting me home Easter Sunday."

"Well, they can just bloody well expect then, can't they. I'm not paying you good money to be swanning off whenever you feel like it. You go where I say and when I say it. Do I make myself quite clear?"

"Yes, Mr Mason."

Jed had warned me but it was still dispiriting to hear Mr Mason say it. If ever there was confirmation that I was now his property it was this. 

That rather put a damper on things and, even after sleeping for most of the day, I still felt listless and dispirited. However, as I showered and shaved ready to go out as Belinda, I knew I had to pin on a happy face. The customer expected me to be upbeat and willing and I knew that if even the slightest hint of a complaint got back to Mr Mason then he would take it out on me.

As I sat at my dressing table, applying my make-up, I thought over what he had said about how I would turn tricks for free if he didn't supply me with customers. While this was a gross exaggeration there was just enough truth in there to make it hurt. Whilst I had learnt to loath Belinda and all she stood for that didn't stop the fact that I did, genuinely, get a thrill from cross dressing. I now wore panties all the time and felt happier for doing so. But I wanted to do it for me, and, hopefully, someday for that someone special I dreamed of having in my life, and not for the sleazeballs who hired my services.

And, on a wider note, there was no doubt now that I was both gay and a 'bottom'; I thrilled to being taken by a big strong man. At the start I had, genuinely, been turned on by my 'walk on the wild side' and found a perverse kick from being fucked by my customers. However, as abuse followed abuse, I had quickly found that there is a profound difference between a rape fantasy and actually being raped. And just because my prick was hard it didn't mean my soul wasn't being despoiled.

By now the face in the mirror was all but done. I plucked one or two stray hairs from my eyebrows making them thin and feminine. I'd baulked from this at first but now that my contact with college was minimal there was no need to hide anymore. I slipped on the wig and there she was, staring back at me, Belinda, the slut. Still, the make-up was a wall to hide behind. It wasn't me in the mirror, it was Belinda and I hoped that, dressed like this. no one would see past her to find Ben, or even Belle.

I put on the Chinese dress and shoes to match. Then I packed my bits and pieces in my clutch bag and put it, along with the baby-doll, in my shoulder bag. I was ready.

Again it was a hotel gig and, again, I was supposed to meet the punter in the bar. I was dropped right outside the front door and, out of interest, after I had gone two or three steps, I turned back towards the car and saw the driver busy working away at his mobile. It looked like my guess about him texting the punter was correct. This, hopefully, meant that I wouldn't be alone for long. Although my confidence was rapidly growing it wasn't too hard to guess what I was and that alone marked me out as trouble.

"Excuse me, miss. Are you a resident here?"

"Not exactly. I've got an appointment to meet one of your residents, a Mr Higgins, in the bar. Perhaps you can show me the way."

"Not so fast, darling." The doorman, quietly but insistently, led me to a quiet corner of the lobby. "This is a respectable hotel and we don't need your sort, even if you have got an 'appointment'. Now, are you going to fuck off quietly or do I have to throw you out?"

I thought fast. This was all about to go horribly wrong. I could only begin to imagine the trouble I would be in if I failed to make the appointment. There was one thing I could try. I opened up my shoulder bag and, within that, my clutch bag.

"Maybe this would help?" I said as I fished out a couple of twenties.

"Make it sixty."

Thanking my lucky stars that I had taken plenty of taxi money I fished out yet another twenty. The doorman disappeared the notes and I was through. As I crossed the lobby I saw the receptionist look up and glance at the doorman. Knowing what to look for I saw the exchange of glances and I guessed that the receptionist was in for her cut.

Fortunately the barman didn't seem to object to my presence. Maybe the doorman's take was cut three ways. Anyway it wasn't long before I was sat at the bar nursing a white wine and soda and feeling incredibly conspicuous. The doorman, the receptionist and probably the barman knew exactly what I was and I felt as if I should have a credit card reader dangling from my wrist. 

After a couple of minutes a middle aged man entered the bar, took one look around, and headed straight for me. 

"Excuse me, miss. Can I buy you a drink?"

"Mr Higgins?"

"Higgins, no, sorry love. Percival, Jim Percival. Still, never mind, why don't I keep you company until this Mr Higgins arrives."

"I really don't think that's a good idea..."

"Come on, darling, don't be shy. I'll show you a far better time than this Higgins guy would. I wouldn't have left you sitting at the bar, for a start." His hand reached around my waist.

"Please, leave me alone!"

"Don't be like that. Come on, now, be a good girl..."

"Excuse me miss, there's a gentleman here asking for Belinda. Is that you?" the barman cut in.

I nodded.

"The young man down at the end."

I looked down the bar and there, at the far end, was a guy of my age or maybe a year or two older looking rather gormless.

"I believe my date has arrived," I told Jim Percival rather pointedly.

"What would you want with a jerk like that?"

"Mr Percival, please stop pestering me."

"Is this gentleman bothering you?" the barman asked.

Mr Percival's face turned hard but he could see he was beaten. "Fuck you bitch. I hope you get AIDSs and die," he snarled but at least he left. 

I smiled and waved my fingers at the guy at the end of the bar and he came on over.

"Are you Belinda?"

"I am, and you must be Mr Higgins."

"Rodney, please."

"I can't say how delighted I am to meet you." 

"Was that guy giving you a hard time?"

"Let's not talk about him. Let's talk about you. Why don't you get yourself a drink and we'll find somewhere to talk."

"Actually I'm not the one you've come to meet; I'm just the messenger come down to fetch you. The guys are all waiting upstairs."

"The guys?" My heart sank as I had visions of some sort of gang-bang.

"Come on, you'll love them."

I followed Rodney to the lift which whisked us up to one of the higher floors. Meanwhile he turned to me and started to explain.

"Look, today is Julian's twenty fifth birthday and, as he's a bit shy with the girls, we thought we'd get him a surprise; something a bit... different."

"And I'm it?"

"And you're it. Look, I've booked the two of you a table at Leonardo's so Harry, Tarquin and I will get you started and then we'll fade away and leave you to show him a good time. I sorted it out with your head office for the full overnight package so you don't have to rush anything."

"If I'm a surprise...," I wasn't sure exactly how to put this. "Do you know exactly what I am?"

"Yeah, sure, I'm the one who made the booking."

"And when Julian finds out. I mean, he'll have to eventually..."

"That's the surprise."

This had disaster written all over it but, as ever, I couldn't back out. I followed Rodney down the corridor to a suite of rooms where his friends were waiting. They were all sat in armchairs in the main body of the suite and, through an open door, I could see the bedroom beyond. There were a couple of empty champagne bottles on the coffee table which suggested that they were already a little tipsy. Like Rodney they were all hooray Henries which put my hackles up but I wasn't being paid for social commentary. I was, as Rodney had put it, the surprise birthday present.

"Hey, chaps. This is Belinda."

"Hi guys," I chirped. "And which one of you is the birthday boy?" 

"The gormless one down at the end. Go on, Jules, say hello to the lady."

"Hello, Belinda."

"Let me give you a great big birthday kiss."

I went over to where he was sat and kissed him full on the lips.

"Wow! You're a bit of a smasher!"

"Thank you. You're not so bad yourself. Oh, there's nowhere to sit. Can I squeeze in next to you?"

I'm not sure how much it was because Jules was a little drunk or because he was not the sharpest knife in the box but he seemed to be falling for it hook, line and sinker. Rodney poured me a glass of champagne and for a few minutes we just chatted. I flirted with Jules, putting my hand on his knee and sliding it north and, judging by his reaction, he was loving it. Then Rodney announced the second part of Jules' present.

"The thing is, Jules, we've booked you and this young lady in at Leonardo's. Dinner is at eight thirty so you'll need to get your skates on."

"Wow, fellows, you are the tops. And you, Belinda, would you do me the honour of accompanying me to dinner."

"I'd be delighted."

Jules missed it but I could see the mischievous delight in the eyes of his friends as they set him up. Tarquin organised a cab for us and the three of them went downstairs with us to see us off.

Jules was an absolute gentleman. He held doors for me, he took my arm, he treated me like a princess. After all the abuse this was wonderful and I found myself responding. I saw the eyes of the Maitre d' at Leonardo's give a bit of a flicker when he saw me but I guessed that money talks and he wasn't going to say anything while I was on Jules' arm.

The meal was superb, and not just the food. While he was never going to be troubling Mensa, Jules was charming, witty and had superb manners. More and more I found myself warming to him and, more and more, I was dreading the reveal, the moment when he found out exactly what was underneath my dress. As such I spun the meal out as long as possible and it was quite late before we were sat together in a taxi heading back to his hotel.

"Belinda?"

"Yes, Jules?"

"You're a smashing girl, really you are. I'd... I'd... I'd love it if you would come up to my room for a little drink... if you'd like... you don't have to."

"Oh, Jules, you're such a sweetie. Of course I will. I don't want this evening to ever stop."

We made our way upstairs and back to the room. The maids must have been because the empty champagne bottles were cleared away and the room was spotless. I found my shoulder bag which I had left there and did the old 'slip into something more comfortable' routine. I went through to the bedroom area and got myself ready, changing into my baby-doll and lubing up. Then I slipped under the covers and called out softly, "Jules, I'm ready for you."

As he came into the bedroom he had the most wonderful smile. He really thought this was the best thing ever. My heart was in my throat. As soon as he got in with me all pretence would be gone. I watched as he got undressed and then he slipped in beside me.

"You're very beautiful, do you know that?"

"You're very kind to say that."

"No really you are."

And then he kissed me, a kiss that went on and on and on. And, as we kissed, his hands started to wander. Surely he must know by now, surely... His hand traced a line up my thigh, all the way up my thigh, all the way until...

I felt his hand brush, almost as if accidentally, across my prick. I couldn't help but let out a little gasp.

"You like that?" This time there was no accident about it, this time he really was stroking my prick through the panties of my baby-doll.

"Oh, Jules!" I sighed and not just from the physical pleasure. He knew I had a prick and he didn't seem to mind. I felt as if a huge weight had slipped from my shoulders. Now I could relax, now I could give Jules the night he deserved.

Jules turned out to be as much of a gentleman between the sheets as he had been in the restaurant. He was kind, considerate and caring and, despite having had one or two glasses of champagne too many, he was also virile. 

If anything he was too considerate. When the time came to slip inside me he was almost too gentle. I was far too used to being raped and even Jed was forceful. Jules, on the other hand, was all but apologetic, concerned that he might hurt me. I pushed back so as to encourage him but he still didn't quite get the message.

"Please, Jules, darling. Take me, take me hard. I'm not made of glass. Oh, yes, like that. Harder, please, harder, oh Jules... oh Jules..."

And then, when it was all over, we had a kiss and cuddle and he told me he'd known right from the start exactly what I was.

"After all," he commented. "I know I'm a bit of a fool but I'm not a complete idiot."

"And you didn't mind?"

"Why should I mind? I've had a great time. You're a smashing girl, Belinda and the best birthday present ever."

"And you're pretty special too. Now, why don't you roll over onto your back and I'll show you how special."

And it was quite late before we had worn each other out.

Come the morning and Jules was keen that I should go down to breakfast with him. The thought of appearing in the hotel restaurant as Belinda didn't appeal so I made my excuses and slipped into the en-suite to get dressed and ready to depart.

Jules was all over me when I emerged and it was quite hard for me to leave. When I finally persuaded him I had to go he pressed an envelope into my hand.

"I can't take this." Was I really turning down money? The problem was that Jules had been so nice, so kind, my protestation had slipped out without me thinking about it.

"Of course you can. Please. It's my way of saying thank you for the best night ever."

And he wouldn't take no for an answer. As I made my way down in the lift I remembered what Mr Mason had said about how I would pull tricks for free. Well, no, I wouldn't but if they were all like Jules... I sighed deeply and went out into the street to catch a taxi home.

If Friday night was a trick I would, almost, have done for free then Saturday night was a rude re-awakening to the ones I really wished I didn't have to do at all. 

Billy Jenkins' birthday party was held in yet another of the seedy private clubs I was getting to know far too well. This time I was dropped off not in front of a posh hotel but in a reeking alleyway full of industrial waste bins. I picked my way through the spilt garbage to the back door where I was led through the kitchens to the 'dressing room'. The whole 'backstage' area was dim, filthy dirty and smelled of things I'd rather not know about. The dressing room itself had seen better days. A sofa with broken springs, a cracked mirror where half the bulbs were blown, the toilet with a missing seat. Hardly conducive to getting changed. 

And then, as I put on the make-up and fitted the wig, there was the knowledge that I was turning into something I was growing to despise. Oh, at first, there had been the excitement of a bit of rough sex, of stepping outside the norm. There was a thrill to be had from breaking all the rules, from challenging the morality I had been brought up with. Now, with the illusions being stripped away, it was getting harder and harder to keep up the pretence. What I was about to do would be cheap and degrading, and there would be worse to follow.




Pony Boy Ch. 09



To be fair, as regards the actual show, Jed and I were getting better organised and it went as slickly as it could. I pinned on the smile, turned the vamp up to eleven and went out and shook my booty. The drunken audience lapped it up, counted along as I got caned and, when we took our bow at the end, the cheers, and jeers, were deafening.

It was after the show that the real nightmare began. Jed and I were, as ever, called out to entertain the guests and, as ever, I was taken straight to the party boy and offered as some sort of favour. However, Billy Jenkins was not after a simple blow job, or a fuck, or anything so direct. He had one simple aim; to humiliate me as much as he could. 

And he didn't mess around. He had me sit on his knee and, under the pretence of ruffling my hair, he dislodged my wig and then acted surprised that I was wearing one. He held it up for all to see and then tossed it on to the table in front of him. Immediately I knew this wasn't going to go well. It wasn't just that I knew how stupid I looked in drag without it; it was also a major part of my shield. Billy Jenkins understood this. He wasn't interested in Belinda, he wanted to hurt Ben. He had me stand up and then, on the pretence of not being able to see me properly, get up on the table and stand there. Then he went to the DJ, had a quick word and then took the microphone off him.

"Ladies and gentlemen, although we've all had glimpses of what young Belinda here has to offer I'm sure you're all eager to see me more. Am I right?" There were cheers of 'yes' from the other guests. "Come on, darling, don't let your adoring public down. Let's have your kit off."

Immediately the DJ started playing 'The Stripper' and, while the guests chanted 'off, off, off', I made as much as I could out of taking off my gymslip and letting it fall to the table. There was no way, of course that I was going to be allowed to stop there and, after a certain amount of bump and grind, my panties followed. 

The music came to an end and I, stark naked except for my shoes, was left standing on the table feeling a bit stupid. Billy Jenkins reached over, grabbed my gym slip and riffled through the pocket where, of course, he found the condoms.

"What have we got here? One, two, three... let's see... fifteen... twenty condoms! Wow, talk about in your dreams, darling. To get through this lot you really would have to bang like a barn door in a gale. Mind you, twenty condoms is a bit hopeful. Did you really think there would be that many people here who would want to fuck a cheap whore like you?"

"It pays to be prepared."

"What was that? Speak up."

"It pays to be prepared."

"Prepared! What are you? Some sort of Boy Scout? Twenty condoms is more than being prepared, darlin', in your case it's bloody fantasy land. After all, what makes you think any of us want to have anything to do with a manky little slag like you?"

I didn't have an answer to that one so I just kept silent.

"Well, anyone?" He looked around the table. " Do we have any takers? Anyone here want to shag the tart? Not getting many takers, are we. Tell you what, you give us a little dance and I'll see what I can do."

The DJ played something with quite a hard beat and I started to dance along to it. Now, in full Belinda gear, I could have given them something worth watching but, stripped naked like this I knew that I just looked ridiculous and that cramped my style. 

Billy meanwhile went around the table and bent down so he and one of the guests could share the mic.

"How about you, Chas? Fancy a bit, do you?"

"What? Of that? I wouldn't be seen dead sticking my prick in a scabby tart like that. You never know what you'll catch."

"Know what you mean, Chas, I know what you mean." He moved on to another guest.

"What about you, Jackie boy, you're known for not being too fussy."

"Give us a break, Billy. Who would fuck that when there are dogs on the street?"

"Do you hear that, Belinda? Not much use for your condoms now, is there? Maybe if you asked nicely. Try Johnny Baker, yeah, the one in the blue shirt."

There was no way out of this so I had to play along. I looked around and there was one of the guests looking obvious and, indeed, wearing a blue shirt.

"Please sir," I said, camping it up as much as I could, "please would you fuck me, please sir."

"How about it Johnny? Fancy the slag?"

"Leave it out, Billy, I've only just finished eating." For some reason this was seen as fabulously funny.

"Seems to me, darlin', that the only one who's going to fuck you is that gayboy partner of yours. Where's he gone?"

Jed, who had been keeping in the background, stepped forward.

"Well, would you fuck the slag?"

"Yes, but I have to. That's what I'm paid to do."

Again this had the punters in fits of laughter.

"Well, go on then, give us a show, that's what we're paying for."

Jed got up on the table with me. Under Billy's orders I got down on my hands and knees and, right there, in front of everyone, Jed fucked me. Sure, it wasn't more than half an hour since he had done exactly that for the entertainment of these very people and it was far from the first time I had been fucked in public but this was far, far more than that. I had been systematically stripped of my dignity. The mask that I usually hid behind had been torn away. Although Billy still referred to me as 'Belinda' there was nothing left of her to hide behind. By removing my wig, far more than removing my clothes, he had made sure I was naked in every sense of the word.

And, while I knew it was all bravado, while I knew it was all put on, the constant put downs had got to me. I was, indeed, the pathetic slag that no one wanted, the slut so desperate that only those who were paid would fuck me.

And Billy wanted to get every ounce of pleasure from my suffering. He was sat so that I was looking straight at him. I bowed my head and closed my eyes but it was never going to be that simple.

"Look up, darling'" He reached out and, holding me by the jaw, forcing me to look him in the eye. There was no escape, none at all.

If he wanted to humiliate me he was getting his money's worth. I was falling apart in front of him.

Fortunately this didn't last long. Within minutes Jed, to the cheers and encouragement of the guests, was reaching his climax and, with a roar of triumph he came, buried to the hilt inside me. There was a certain amount of clapping as we climbed down off the table but our part in the entertainment was over. I grabbed my clothes and wig and, together, Jed and I went back to the dressing room.

I couldn't even find the energy to get dressed. I sat, naked and shivering, staring at myself in the mirror, feeling like I was falling into a bottomless pit. Jed, bless him, said nothing but waited quietly until I was ready. Then, when the tears came, he put his arm around my shoulder and held me tight.

"Come on, Ben. Let's get you home."

I looked at him blankly.

"Come on. Put on some clothes, get that make-up off and let's get you out of here."

I did as I was told and, half an hour later, we were catching a cab together. Our first stop was Jed's place.

"Pay the man off, Ben. You're coming inside with me."

I didn't argue but paid off the taxi and, together, we trudged up the endless stairs to fortress Jed. Once there, he all but ordered me under his shower and, while there is some types of dirt that water, however hot, won't wash away, I did feel a lot better by the time I had finished. When I emerged I wrapped a towel around my waist and went to find Jed who was sat in his kitchen waiting for me. I sat down opposite and he passed me a cup of tea.

"What's he got on you?" he asked.

"He threatened my family. Sue, my sister, she's only sixteen and Archie... I was a fool, Jed, a bloody fool to have got myself into this in the first place."

"You're not the first and you won't be the last. Look at Little Angel, what's his name, Jack or something. He's just the same. Thinks he's being so big and bold and daring and, all the while, they're reeling him in. Oh, it's all special treatment at first, until they get the hooks in."

"Yeah, Mr Mason told me this morning that he's got plans for him. He thinks Jack and I will look good together in a sister act, Jackie and Belinda Bombshell. Looks like you'll be fucking the two of us before too long."

"Jesus!"

"Jed, how do you cope? How do you survive? You've been doing this longer than I have. How do you manage?"

"I just do. So will you; you have no choice. I just keep thinking 'one day...'." 

"One day...? What, over the rainbow?"

"Something like that. Seriously, some of the guys, they've given up. This is what they are and this is what they do. Don't get like that, don't ever get like that."

"Keep on dreaming, eh?"

"Yeah, keep on dreaming."

"Thanks, Jed. You've been... I don't know what I'd have done without you. I know that sounds trite but I mean it."

"I don't need thanks."

"Well, you're getting them anyway. Now, it's late and I ought to go. Leave you to get your beauty sleep." I stood up from the table. "I'll go and get dressed."

"What's up, bored with me already?" Jed stood up as well.

"No, of course not. I just thought... I thought you'd be bored with me."

"God, you're dumb."

He took me and led me through to his bedroom.

"Get in. I'll be back in a moment."

"I heard the sound of plumbing coming from the bathroom and, when he returned, he too was naked. He got in beside me and pulled me into him.

"You don't tell anyone, no one at all. This is our secret, just us, just the two of us. That's important, really important."

"Of course."

"Outside of this room we're just two ponyboys. Nothing special except, maybe, a bit of rivalry because of the way we needle each other. Understood?"

"Understood. And inside this room? What are we then?"

"That's our secret."

He held me tight, just cuddling. He knew, as I did, that sex had been ruined for us for a while. We would recover, we would mend each other, but to have him fuck me then would have brought back all the pain and humiliation. What we had, what we shared, was a million miles from the filth that we had been put through earlier. Neither of us wanted to do anything that might link them.

Come Sunday morning Jed kicked me out early. There was still something special between us but he was clamming up again and I knew there was something he wasn't saying. He urged me once again to keep our relationship secret and I assured him I would.

Sunday night was another Belinda gig; another middle aged businessman who wanted his ego flattered by a 'girlfriend' with that little extra. At least the sex was simple, straightforward and soon over. Monday was pretty much the same thing except, this time, it was Ben who was stepping out. Tuesday, mercifully, was a night off, even if Mr Mason did grumble about it when he came down to the gym on Wednesday morning. Wednesday night was another Belinda gig, this time guy who wanted to tie me up with ropes before he fucked me. In some ways this made things easier. I was getting used to letting the punter do whatever he wanted to me; bound head and foot I had no choice.

Thursday was, of course, race day. As the minibus rounded us all up Jack was there as well, looking a bit subdued, not to say terrified. I asked if he was OK and he assured that everything was fine but it was easy to tell that it wasn't.

"Looks like Jacky boy has had the Archie treatment," Jed commented quietly as we were waiting to get showered. "Any money you like he gets told to pull a race and that's when Mr Mason steps in and 'saves' him. Sound familiar?"

All too familiar. I watched with interest as he got ready. His nerves were really playing him up. I wouldn't actually be able to watch the play go down. We would, inevitably, be in separate halves of the draw as Mr H would want a potential College Boy vs Little Angel final and that meant that we would be quite far apart in the line of sulkies. Even if my blinkers weren't closed they would be fitted and that meant my view would be severely restricted.

And then I was far too busy to think about him at all, except as a rival pony. Pete was, once again, my jockey and I knew that, fully shaven and oiled, I really looked the business between the shafts. Sure, I was vain and conceited but if I was going to be a ponyboy then I was determined to be the best I could. What is more, even if I did have real competition for a change, I was still a popular pony and, as I stood tall waiting for the racing, there were plenty who would come and admire me, plenty who wanted to touch, to feel, to fondle. One of the punters even commented on how my prick was hard and proud in its straps and not like Little Angel's wilted carrot, as he put it. This, of course was music to my ears.

The races were handicapped and, as one of the favourites, I was carrying quite a bit of weight. I didn't mind too much as I imagined that Little Angel would be similarly held back. However, with all the weight I was carrying, the heats were harder and, as I made my way towards the final, I was getting increasingly exhausted. 

And there we were, Little Angel and I, once again head to head in the finals. I could tell that quite a bit of money had been wagered and this was what the punters had all been waiting for. As I was led out onto the course my blinkers were open and, as Little Angel was first the start line, I glanced across and had a good look. There was no doubt that he was pretty. He was trim, fit and young, and his cute little arse looked fine with the pony tail apparently sprouting from it. I could imagine just how many of the punters would take one look and want to fuck him senseless. However, this just spurred me on. I was top pony, I was the one they all wanted to fuck and I was determined that it would stay that way. I was determined to beat him and keep on beating him.

When the starter's flag dropped he went off like a rocket but, this time, I was ready for him and was, just, able to keep the inside track around the bend. And then, down the back straight, he made another play and, again, I was just about able to keep him off. I had to dig deep, really deep but the anger running within me was fuelling me, pushing me harder. 

As I came to the bend at the end of the fourth lap I nearly entered it too fast and it took all I had to keep the sulky upright. By the lack of signals I was guessing that Pete was simply hanging on for dear life. This was my race, mine! Mine!

By the end of the seventh lap it was all becoming a bit of a blur. I only knew where we were in the race because of the commentary coming from the Tannoy. If Little Angel was going to make his move it would have to be soon and, indeed, I could sense that he was close. I couldn't see but I could feel him pushing for the inside of the last bend. I remembered the trick that Jed had played on me. I pulled out, letting him think there was a way through on my inside and then, at the last moment, swerved hard back in, slamming the door shut on him. I was round the last bend, into the last straight, I was nearly there... nearly... The crowd were shouting, Pete was shouting, the whole warehouse was alive with noise. I'd done it. I was there, I'd won. I'd won!

I couldn't really collapse, not with the way I was attached to the sulky but my legs went from under me, I keeled forward but my wrists chained to the shafts of the sulky kept me upright and I ended up knelt with my forehead all but touching the ground. There were a hundred and one people around me but I couldn't do anything but stay there. Then, thank heavens, someone unclipped my wrists and I was able to lie in a more comfortable position. Similarly, the bit was removed from my mouth to help me breath.

It didn't take long before Mr H came over and pushed his way through the crowd around me.

"Is he OK?"

"He's fine. Just needs to catch his breath."

"Can you get him back to the centre circle?"

"Yeah. He should be OK now."

I was helped to my feet to resounding cheers. I had certainly given the punters what they wanted. Someone passed Pete a bottle of water and I was given a long cool drink. However, the show was far from over and, as soon as I had drunk my fill, my bit was refastened, my blinkers were closed and I was reattached to the sulky. Inevitably, I was led back to the centre circle and the hobble re-applied.

I was quite the hero after such a close fought race and, as Pete massaged life back into my tired legs, there were plenty of others who were keen to show their appreciation. I know it was petty and childish of me but I loved it. Of course, the tips being thrust into my harness were welcome but the adulation was the gold I was really after.

I was still drifting on this cloud when Mr Mason came over. 

"The crowd are all after a rematch. Will he be ready in, say, twenty minutes?"

"He's about ready now. He won't be as fast this time but, you know College Boy, he always puts his heart into it."

"That's because he knows what will happen if he doesn't."

"Nah, it's more than that with this one. Look how hard his prick is. From the moment I oil him up ready for his harness until he takes it off at the end he loves every second. And, when he loses, he's gutted, truly gutted and just wants to get back out there and win the next one. Born to race, I tell you."

"And what about Little Angel? What do you make of him?"

"He's fast and there's no doubting he's pretty but... he's not a fighter. Look at that last race. Little Angel should have won it somewhere around the seventh lap but this one," Pete patted my backside, "simply wouldn't let him. Mind you, the way Mr H is handicapping I wouldn't like to call any race at the moment."

"Thanks, Pete," and, with that, Mr Mason wandered off.

I wasn't called for any of the ad-hoc races but I knew what was coming and there, right at the end of the meeting, I heard over the Tannoy, "ladies and gentlemen, for our last race of the evening, by popular demand, a rematch between Little Angel and College Boy with the usual added incentive for the winner. This will be a handicap race over four laps and, as College Boy won earlier, he will be carrying five pounds extra while Little Angel will be carrying five pounds less. The betting stalls will be open for another ten minutes so make sure to get your money in early."

My heart sunk a little. Mr Mason had listened to Pete and taken his comments about handicapping on board. Given how close the last race had been the extra difference in weights was going to make it so much harder to win. What is more, when the hobble was removed, I found my tired legs were unwilling to move. 

However, the thought of not trying never entered my mind. It wasn't just that I was rightly scared of what Mr Mason would do if I didn't try, Pete was right, it was far more about an inner pride. If this little runt was going to beat me then he would have to work hard for his victory.

The sulky seemed as heavy as lead and I knew it was going to be less agile around the corners. Quite how much of this was the extra five pounds and quite how much purely psychological is moot. Even before I left the centre circle I had the feeling that things were going against me.

I never had a chance. Little Angel went off like a rocket and I struggled to keep up with him. By the time we had finished the second lap he was a full length ahead and in control of the race. Maybe, just maybe, had I had the full eight laps to work on I might have been able to claw it back but, with the best will in the world, when I went for my reserves of strength I found the well was dry. I was going to lose and there was nothing I could do about it. The best I could hope for was to prevent it from being embarrassing.




Pony Boy Ch. 09



And then, after the race, on my knees in the centre circle with Little Angel's prick rammed down my throat, I began to appreciate why Jed had seemed to hate me so much at first. The indignities that I was forced to swallow were just the same as he had faced. This arrogant little twerp who, having run a couple of races, thought he knew it all was insufferable and I just wished to wipe that self-satisfied grin off his face. I know I should have felt pity on him, after all he had no idea what was in store for him, but at that moment I felt only disdain.

I kept well away from him during the post-race showers although I did notice that there was a certain arrogance in his step. Presumably he had had the 'you're one of my ponies now' chat with Mr Mason and thought he was immune.

When we got to the party he was whisked away. I joined the others and, was still circulating with a tray of drinks, when, I saw him sitting on Mr Mason's knee looking very pleased with himself. At this point I did feel a tinge of pity. He looked so young, so innocent, sat there, snuggled into Mr Mason's armpit while, all the time, Mr Mason's hand was slid up the leg of his shorts. I knew, as sure as eggs are eggs, that before the night was over he would have serviced his first client, even if he didn't see it that way.

After that I hardly saw him at all. I was far, far too busy with the various guests who wanted my services. Unlike Jack, my days of being feather-bedded were well over and I was expected to earn my keep. I might not be the new kid in town but I was still popular and, by the time the evening was over, I had earned quite a bit in tips.

Of course he wasn't anywhere to be seen when the party was over. As I got dressed and waited for the minibus I vaguely wondered where he was. I imagined him in some hotel room while a punter, one specially selected by Mr Mason, took his virginity. I'd bet lots that, whoever it was, had paid extra for that. Jack had some hard lessons to learn and the hardest of all was that he, like me, was now trapped. Welcome to hell, Little Angel.



Pony Boy Ch. 10



The story so far...

Ben, when desperate for a little extra cash, discovered that there was good money to be made running in races as a 'ponyboy'. Despite being assured that the worst he would be subjected to would be a 'certain amount of groping' he has found that this led, inexorably, to a life as a prostitute. Moreover, Andy Mason, his pimp, along with Archie, Mr Mason's enforcer, has made it quite clear that, as long as there is money to be made from renting him out, quitting is not an option.

Among the many indignities Ben has been forced into performing in a sex show where, cross dressed as naughty schoolgirl "Belinda Bombshell", he is caned and sodomised for the entertainment of the punters. The show, and Belinda in particular, is such a hit that Mr Mason has seen yet another money making opportunity and he is keen that Ben should perform as Belinda as much as possible. But, more than just the stage show, he is now looking to make even more money by renting Ben out as a transvestite escort.

But, for all Ben is finding this demeaning and degrading, he is also discovering sides to his sexuality that had previously lain hidden. He may loathe Belinda and all she stands for but that doesn't stop him getting a certain frisson of pleasure whenever he puts on her panties.

And, all the while, there's the complicating factor of his growing relationship with taciturn and secretive Jed, at first his arch rival but, latterly, his lover. 

And now there's a new kid in town. Jack, racing as Little Angel, has been recruited a ponyboy and is being drawn further in using exactly the same tricks that they used on Ben. And while Ben is sympathetic, Archie has warned him not to do anything that would hinder Little Angel's 'training'.

Now read on...

As job followed job followed job my life began to turn into a bit of a blur. The more tricks I turned the more Mr Mason earned so he did everything practical to ensure I was out as often as possible. Any pretence of doing college work had long gone by the board and I had to phone my parents and tell them a story about how, as the new boy in the call centre, I was the one who had to cover for the Easter break and how I would see them in the summer. Whether I would or not was another matter but I had no choice but to file that one under 'cross that bridge when I get to it'.

I was becoming one of Mr Mason's top earners as the jobs kept coming, thick and fast. Belinda was getting more and more hits on the web site which meant that, as often as not, I was putting on a dress before heading out of the door. I was earning lots but I was spending lots. The specialised clothing store I bought Belinda's dresses from was far from cheap and keeping them looking smart was hard work. They got to know me quite well at the local dry cleaners. Meanwhile, practice was making perfect and with each outing I got a little more proficient at putting on the make-up and a little more thick skinned about the looks I got from those who disapproved.

And, sure, I got plenty of weirdoes and met far, far more than my fair share of spankers but, mostly, my clients were sad, lonely middle-aged men who were after what the web site coyly described as the 'gfe', the girlfriend experience. Mostly all they wanted was a little ego massaging and the pleasure of stepping out with a pretty 'girl' on their arm before going back to the hotel where they would, to the best of their ability, have sex with me. 

More often than not the best of their ability wasn't very much. If my job in the restaurant, or theatre, or nightclub, was to flatter their ego, once back in the hotel room it was to flatter their libido. I got far too used to coaxing orgasms out of semi flaccid pricks, or feigning satisfaction after thirty seconds of frantic pounding. I got far too used to assuring the less that well-endowed that size isn't important and that it's what you do with it that counts. And I got far too used to assuring every man, and they were all men, that they were the most exciting, most well endowed, most virile, lover I had ever met.

But it wasn't all sweetness and light. Whenever I started thinking that the customers weren't that bad, whenever I let myself slip into a false sense of security, I would inevitably come across the punter whose confused sexuality would turn into a violent anger, whose self-loathing would turn into loathing me. It wasn't just that Belinda was, in their eyes, a tart, a slag, a whore, it was their reaction to what was between her legs. Sure, they all knew what they were getting, there wasn't the slightest pretence on the web site but, as a 'tranny', I was, as far as they were concerned, the lowest of the low and undeserving of anything except vile abuse and I ended up having to use blusher to hide the bruises. Why did they hire me if I wasn't what they wanted? The answer, I suppose, is that beating up the tranny was what they wanted. 

Interspersed with my dates as Belinda were my dates as Ben. Here the main differentiator was between those who bothered to remove their wedding ring and those who didn't feel the need. To be sure, all my customers were 'happily married' and not one of them thought of himself as gay. However, that didn't stop them wanting to fuck the rent boy. I was their secret indulgence pandering to the desires they'd rather not admit to. By its very nature these tricks were more orientated towards a quick fuck in a hotel room than any lengthy engagement and, if he could manage to arrange it, Mr Mason would sometimes have me turning two or even three tricks a night.

And then, on Thursdays there were always the race meetings and the party afterwards. Here I still maintained my slight ascendency. Sure, Little Angel could, and regularly did, give me a run for my money in the races and it seemed everyone, ponies and punters alike, were happier now there was more than one sure-fire winner. However, at the party afterwards, Jack never found his inner slut and always had an air of reluctance about what he was forced into. While this appealed to many at first, there are only so many times you can 'screw the virgin' and Belinda, camping it up and being outrageous, was more fun to party with in the long run. I certainly still had my fair share of punters and was a favourite with many.

True to his word, Mr Mason tried to get Jack and myself into performing as a sister act. However, whereas I had taken to cross-dressing like a duck to water, Jack could never quite get the hang of it. Oh, sure, he could wear the clothes and, with my help, put on the make-up, but he could never get into the soul of the thing; he couldn't find that hint of feminine mystique, the pretence that he wasn't just a boy in a dress. In short he was no actor. We spent quite a bit of time in Mr H's office parading back and forward, trying this and trying that but nothing seemed to work and it all came across as farcical, not sexy. In the end Mr Mason was, reluctantly, forced to drop the idea.

But, if the sister act was a non-runner, that didn't stop Mr Mason wanting to experiment with other combinations for the Belinda act. He was keen to try threesomes and, at first, had Jack and I as two naughty schoolgirls reporting to Jed's teacher. This simply didn't work. The main problem was that Jed could only fuck one of us at once and that left the other 'schoolgirl' standing around looking stupid. That, combined with Jack's inability to wear drag convincingly, reduced the whole thing to a farce and that was not what Mr Mason wanted. 

The next combination he tried was Belinda servicing two guys. I had always assumed it would be Carl who would make up the third member but, instead of Carl, he got in Rog. For the caning part Rog and Jed would stand either side of me and take turns. After that I would suck off Rog while being fucked by Jed. That took quite a bit of gymnastics but eventually we got it worked out. 

This time it was the punters who put the kybosh on the thing. Apparently, as far as they were concerned, they weren't getting any more of a sex show than the original so they couldn't see why they would have to pay more. As Mr Mason still had three sets of wages to pay he soon decided against it. 

But, as we were back to just Jed and myself, we now had to find other ways to keep the act fresh. Mr Mason's answer was to ring the changes by changing the roles. Sexy nurse was a favourite but 'policeman' Jed suggesting he use his truncheon to sodomise 'traffic warden' Belinda always got lots of ironic cheers. After the show the traffic warden certainly spent a lot of time on her knees while entertaining the guests whereas the 'nurse' would be called upon to make lots of 'health checks'. 

And, all through this, whenever we could be discreet about it, I would climb the stairs to fortress Jed. There, together, we would share the things we could not talk about. When I felt small, alone and lost I would find comfort in Jed's arms and, although I'm not sure exactly what I gave back in return, I know I made him smile. Maybe that was enough. 

Later, as we lay together, squeezed into his single bed, I would tell him about my dream. A little bar, Belle's Bar, somewhere hot, somewhere far, far away. A stage in the corner where Belle would do cabaret, on stage, on show, but not for sale, not ever again. Jed just laughed and when I asked about his dreams he would clam up and get surly. I knew better than to press but, as I looked at the framed postcard next to his bed, I knew he had some dreams somewhere.

We were also lying in bed when he gave me the one bit of advice that saved my bacon later. 

"Your stash, the one that's under the loose floorboard."

"How do you know where it is."

"I didn't know where it is, I guessed. And so will they if they go looking. It's always under the loose floorboard; first place they'll check. Do yourself a favour. Move it. Somewhere safe. Somewhere out of your house. Somewhere that you can get to in a hurry. Can you think of anywhere like that?"

"Well there's..."

"Don't tell me. I don't want to know. And it's not just your stash. Put your passport in the same place."

"Passport! What the fuck, Jed? Why would I need to do that?"

"Just do it."

"OK, for you, Jed, anything for you."

"I bet you say that to all the guys. Seriously, Ben, don't forget."

Spring turned to summer and summer turned to autumn and nothing much changed. I found ever more inventive excuses not to go home to my parents and, of course, I never went on the Malaysian trip that had been the start of all this madness. 

And then, one Thursday, at the after race party, I spotted that Jed had been picked up by one of the more awkward customers. I didn't see much. I was, after all, pretty busy keeping my own customers satisfied, but, even so, there were bits you simply couldn't miss. The punter, a Barry Jameson, was drunk and violent and taking it out on Jed in such a way that the whole party knew about it. And then, when Mr Mason took control and eased him out of the party he insisted that he'd paid to fuck Jed and wasn't going to be cheated out of it. Mr Mason, more concerned over not disturbing the party than Jed's welfare, readily agreed that Jed should leave with him. As the fuss died down and I settled back to blow job I had been distracted from, I just hoped that Jed would be OK. We'd all seen our fair share of violence but Barry Jameson looked worse than most.

The next morning I was down in the gym when Mr Mason arrived with Archie in tow. 

"OK, Ben, where the fuck is he?"

"Where's who, Mr Mason."

"Where's Jed, you little prick. I wake up this morning to find that Barry Jameson's in intensive care and Jed has disappeared off the face of the earth. I know the two of you are best mates and all so you must know where he's gone."

"I'm sorry, Mr Mason, I don't know. Have you been to his flat?"

"Don't get cheeky with me. Of course I've been to his flat. And if he's not there then he must be somewhere else. Maybe one of his friends is looking after him, someone like you."

"I haven't seen him, honest I haven't, not since last night when he left with Mr Jameson."

"Let me work on him, Andy. I'll soon have the little runt spilling his guts."

"Please! Please, Mr Mason, I promise, really I don't know anything. If I did I would tell you."

Archie came over towards me taking a Stanley knife out of his pocket. He reached for the waistband of my shorts and sliced through it. As the tattered remnants fell to my feet I couldn't help it, I wet myself with fear. With the urine trickling down between my legs I fell to my knees, shaking, waiting for whatever Archie was about to do to me.

"Hang on, Archie, don't go marking the merchandise. The punters won't pay for damaged goods. You, boy, stand up and come here."

I got up and stood in front of him.

"You wouldn't be lying to me now, would you?"

"No, Mr Mason. Please, I'm far too scared of Archie to do a thing like that."

"You are, aren't you. Come on, Archie, this one knows fuck all. And you, Ben, if you hear anything, the slightest rumour, you come and tell me. Is that quite understood?"

"Yes, Mr Mason."

"You've got a Belinda stage show tonight, haven't you?"

"Yes, Mr Mason. We're down to do the doctor and nurse routine."

"Not without Jed, you aren't. Dammit. Rog will have to step in. Mr H's office, four o'clock and we'll have a quick run through. Understood?"

"Of course, Mr Mason. I'll be there."

Once my gym session was done I drove over to fortress Jed. However, when I climbed the stairs to his flat I found the door hanging off its hinges. I looked around inside. Someone, I assumed Archie, had turned the place over. I went into the bedroom, the heart of Jed's hideaway, and it had been similarly desecrated. There on the floor was a broken picture frame and, knowing how much it had meant to Jed, I picked it up. The postcard, the one from Tenerife, was damaged but still mostly intact. I slipped it into my pocket.

That afternoon, when I got to Mr H's office, I was agog to hear more but if Tracy or Mr H knew anything they certainly weren't saying. As Mr Mason had said, Jed seemed to have disappeared off the face of the earth. I went through the routine with Rog; the doctor's white coat was a near enough fit and, while it would take a while before we got it as slick as Jed and I had done, it was good enough to take on the road.

Even so, that night, bent over with Rog sodomising me, I really missed Jed. I'd got used to working with him and, somehow, even the ghastly bits weren't that bad. Now it was Rog behind me I felt more alone than ever before.

I hadn't exactly ignored Jed's advice about moving my stash; I simply hadn't got around to it. Now I could understand some of the urgency. The problem was, even though I had money and a passport I couldn't run away, not without endangering my family. It was the thought of Archie simply being in the same county as my sister that scared the crap out of me and kept me working for Mr Mason. Still, if only as a way of saying goodbye to Jed, I knew that this was the time to do it. There was a place at the college sports grounds, around the back of the changing rooms where an old roller lay rusting gently. No one had rolled the cricket pitch in years and, if they suddenly decided to, they wouldn't be using that broken relic. On the other hand it was too big and clumsy just to put in the bin. That was why it had been left there and that was why it would always stay there. If I put my stuff in a Tupperware box I could slip it inside and no one would know. That would have to do. Just to be on the safe side I put Jed's postcard in there as well. It was my only memento of Jed, the only thing I had to remind me of the good times and was, to me, as precious as my passport or my stash.

The more time passed the more I missed Jed. Sure, there was Carl, and Rog and, to an extent Jack, and all the other ponyboys but, while we were all good mates on the surface, there was no real connection. None of them was going to invite me up to his room and, even if one had, I wouldn't have been interested in going. I ached, physically ached, just to lie with him again, just to see him smile, to hear his voice, to touch his skin, to be with him. 

And then I started to hear the rumours. Knowledge is power and the punters at the after race parties liked to demonstrate their power by boasting of the knowledge they had. It said much about the way they treated us ponyboys that they tended to disregard the one knelt between their knees and more than a few spoke more freely than was wise. As such I got to hear quite a few rumours and the biggest was that some guy called Henry Applegate was due for release soon.

"And when Henry gets out Andy Mason needs to watch his back."

"And why's that then?"

"Story goes, Andy's the one that stitched him up. The exact details are all a bit hush-hush but a nod's as good as a wink to a blind man. Tell you something, I wouldn't want to be in Andy's shoes."

But, even without the rumours, I could tell that Mr Mason was nervous and whenever I saw Archie he seemed to be putting on the hard man image more than was necessary. Not that there was anything I could do about it. My job was to keep my head down and go out keep on earning cash for Mr Mason.

And I wouldn't have been involved at all if it hadn't have been for Mr H's mistake.

It was a Friday and, after my session at the gym, I'd gone to pick up my wages. I was busy settling up with Mr H when Tracy came into the office.

"Harry, where are the account books from last night?"

"The account books... I thought you had them."

"You mean you left them down at the warehouse again."

"I'm sorry Trace. I'll pick them up this evening."

"That's no good. I can't do the end of month up until I've got them and I don't want to have to explain to Mr Mason why they're late again. He was mad enough last month."

"Could you be and angel and nip down and get them for me?"

"Why is it always me. Anyay I can't. My car is in the garage. Why can't you go?"

"Because I've got Geoff Staples coming for lunch. I'll never get there and back in time. I know, if your car is in the garage then why doesn't Ben drive you."

"Ben?"

"Yeah, Ben; he could have you there and back in an hour, no problem."

Tracy took a long cool look at me, sighed deeply and finally nodded her head. "OK, but this is another one you owe me. Come on Ben. Off we go."

I was a bit pissed off at the way Mr H had commandeered my car but I knew better than to protest. What's more, I'd got to rather like Tracy. Sure, she took no nonsense from any of us ponyboys and no one would accuse her of being soft but she had always been good to me and her wicked sense of humour would make the journey through the London traffic go faster.

Although I had been to the warehouse plenty of times I had always arrived and left in the minibus with its darkened windows. Now, for the first time, I was seeing it from the outside. It stood in the middle of a semi-derelict trading estate. Tracy directed me through the maze of roads and the gate of the chain link fence that surrounded it.

Following her instructions I drove round to the back of the warehouse and parked up in the loading bay, Tracy got out and, out of curiosity, I followed. On race nights the warehouse was a hive of activity, Friday mid-morning it was quiet, empty, with no signs of what had gone on there a mere twelve hours previously. Tracy led me to the office which she opened up and had me wait outside while she went in and unlocked the safe.

And that's when I heard the cry.

"Tracy?"

"Yeah."

"This place is supposed to be empty, yeah?"

"Completely. It's a tax dodge or some such."

"Then come out here and listen."

She came out of the office holding a green accounts book. For a moment we stood there in silence and then it came again. A cry of pain from the other end of the building.




Pony Boy Ch. 10



"What the fuck... Hang on, I'll just lock up here." Tracy went back into the office and shut the safe. When she re-emerged she locked the office door and we set off towards where the sound had come from.

There it was again, an obvious cry of pain.

"I don't like the sound of that. Whoever it is shouldn't be here. This place should be empty. Come on, Ben but keep quiet. I want a butcher's without being spotted if that's possible."

We turned a corner and there, at the other end of the warehouse, was a group of people stood around two chairs, two occupied chairs. The two bodies slumped in the chairs would have fallen off if they weren't tied down. Their bloody faces and blood soaked clothes made it immediately clear exactly what was going on. They were on the receiving end of a severe beating; so severe that it was hard to tell who they were, especially from that distance.

There was one of those frozen moments. Both Tracy and I knew we should run but we were like rabbits in the headlights. I thought I had been hardened by my time as a ponyboy but nothing could have prepared me for this. I couldn't help it, my stomach lurched and I vomited, loudly. The group looked up and saw us just as we recognised the battered and bleeding figures of Mr Mason and Archie. 

"Run!" Tracy screamed as she turned and headed for the door. I didn't need to be told twice. We had quite a start over the guys who were chasing us and I intended to keep it that way. I heard a couple of bangs and the sound of bullets ricocheting but no one was going to hit anything with a handgun at that distance and it just served to spur me on. 

My time in the gym served me well and I was out to the loading bay in no time. I'd already fished out my car keys and was busy pressing the remote locking and I was still several yards away when the flashing indicators told me it was unlocked. I leapt in and shoved the key in the ignition. When I looked up Tracy was just emerging. I drove round to meet her and hardly stopped as she tugged open the door and jumped into the passenger seat. With a squeal of tires I headed for the gate. I may or may not have heard gun shots but by then I was simply concentrating on getting out of there.

"Slow down!" Tracy ordered.

"We've got to get away."

"Too right we've got to get away but that means we don't want to be stopped for speeding."

That made sense so I slowed down to thirty. 

"Down there."

I followed Tracy's directions and we got hopelessly lost in some housing estate.

"We should have stayed on the main roads," I said in despair.

"Fuck that. We need to get lost and that means keeping off the main roads. Hang on a bit and I'll get my sat-nav working."

As I drove in aimless circles she played with her phone and then, at last, we had a route.

"Where are we going?"

"You just drive and, for fuck's sake, keep to the speed limits. If we get stopped we're dead meat. Why on earth did you have to spew your guts like that?"

"I didn't mean to."

She gave me a long hard look.

"I guess not. But I've got to vanish and I've got to take you with me. You're a good lad, Ben, but you're a liability. They got a good look at the both us and, even if they hadn't you can be sure they got your car registration. That means they'll soon know exactly who you are and where you live. If they get hold of you then the first question they'll ask will be about me and, with the best will in the world, it will take all of thirty seconds before you're spilling your guts. We've got to disappear. Both of us."

"In which case I need to make a quick detour."

"How quick?"

"Ten minutes tops. We're nearly there already."

Despite Tracy's protests I drove to the college playing fields and parked up. Thankfully, mid-morning, it was as deserted as the warehouse should have been. Now I knew why Jed had been so insistent. I found my stash and ran back to the car.

"What the fuck's that?"

I tossed the package into Tracy's lap, got in, and started driving. She opened up the Tupperware box and looked inside.

"Jesus, there must be over ten grand here."

"Thirteen seven fifty last time I counted."

"Five grand gets you out of the country. You can keep the other eight."

I was about to complain but, what the heck.

"OK. Now, where exactly are we going?" 

Tracy led us a roundabout route which used most of the lanes of south Essex, Finally, after what seemed like hours, we drove down a narrow muddy track which ending up in a boatyard out on the north bank of the Thames. A handful of yachts rested on the mud but basically the place looked empty and deserted. We got out of the car and went to the back door of the house that overlooked it all. Tracy knocked on the door and we waited. 

"Hello, Trace. What brings you here?" A man, as rough and battered as the boatyard emerged not from the house but from one of the sheds. He was dressed in oily overalls and had the look of someone interrupted in their work.

"Hi, Uncle Jimmy. Can we go inside?"

"Of course, doll. Is there a problem?"

"We need to vanish. Soon as."

"We'll have to wait for the tide. Couple of hours, OK?"

"Yeah, I guess we're safe for a couple of hours."

"And what about the car?"

"That needs to go as well."

"In which case let's get it undercover first."

Uncle Jimmy had me park the car in one of the many sheds around the yard and then he took Tracy and I over to the house. As we sat over a cup of tea at the kitchen table Tracy told him the full story. 

"You've got yourself a spot of bother there, Trace. You really have got to lay low for a while. I've got some friends over in Holland who owe me a few favours and I can ask them to look after you, no problem. What about sonny Jim here?"

"I... I've got an idea where I might go."

"Out of the country?"

"Yeah. Tracy said you might be able to get me to Holland and, tomorrow, if you can get me to an airport then I'll do the rest."

"Yeah, I can do that."

A couple of hours later the tide started to fill the creek. In the meantime Uncle Jimmy had been getting a thirty foot fishing boat ready for sea. Just to make things perfect a light autumn mist was falling and, as we slipped out of the creek the light was ebbing from the day. I stood at the aft rail and watched the English coast disappear into the gloom. Tracy came out and joined me.

"How long before we can return?"

"I dunno. We saw what we saw and Harry Applegate isn't the sort to forget in a hurry. I'm not sure if he got a good look at me but he definitely knows who you are by now. Never might be too long - for either of us. Oh, and don't go contacting your family either. It's best that they don't know. Sorry, kid, I know it's hard but that's the way it goes, sometimes. Just be thankful we got out of there before Harry caught us."

"What's going to happen to Mr H, or Carl, or Rog, or any or the others?"

"Mr H? A slimy toad like that one will be just fine. Harry will need someone to run the business just the way Andy Mason did. As for the lads, they'll hardly notice the difference."

"Look, Ben," she continued. "I'm not going to ask you where you're going but treat this as your lucky break. Mr Mason was never going to let you go but he'll be dead by now and, as long as you keep out of the country and don't do anything stupid Harry Applegate isn't going to find you. Wherever you go, keep your head down, keep your nose clean and enjoy your freedom. That's what I'm going to do. Now, I'm going back to the cabin. It's fucking freezing out here."

That night we slipped into a boatyard that was almost identical to Uncle Jimmy's except that the signs were in Dutch. While Uncle Jimmy and Tracy were greeted like long lost cousins the locals were somewhat cooler towards me. Sure, everyone was very friendly but it was quite clear that they wanted me out of there as soon as possible. They let me stay the night but, first thing the next morning, I was taken to Rotterdam and dropped at the station. I was all alone but I knew where I was heading. I bought a ticket for the next train to the airport. It was time to see if my guess was right.

Some time later

It was mid afternoon and we both knew we had things to do but, somehow, there is always time for love. The weather was hot, baking hot, so we took it long and languorous but we both knew where this was heading, we both knew what we wanted.

"Oh, god, yes. Like that, oh, please, like that, fill me up, all the way, all the way in."

There are few better things in life than the feeling when the love of your life slides inside you. That full feeling as, inch by inch, he plunders your well lubricated. backside. I know I will never, ever, get bored of it. Making love, being loved, sharing love, what could be better.

"Like that do you?"

"Yes, yes, you know I do. Harder, please, oh my love, fill me up. Oh yes, I love you, I love you so much my darling, darling, oh, please..."

He took his time, moving within me, slowly, strongly, building towards his climax, building towards our climax, thrusting, thrusting, until...

"Oh yes, oh yes, like that, my darling, my love. Come for me, come for me. Oh, yes, oh, yes, oh Jed!"

With a deep groan that seemed to come from the very heart of him, Jed came inside me. One, twice, three times he pushed himself deep inside me before he was finished. Then he just lay there, still inside, while we both got our breath back Being loved by Jed is the best ever. It's all I could ever wish for.

We lay together for a while and if we could, we would have laid there all day. However, we both had things to do. The business wouldn't run itself; Jed had the bar to restock and Belle had a new gown to try out ready for tonight's show. Buying Belle's specialised outfits wasn't quite as easy here in Tenerife but the internet and mail order helped keep Belle the best dressed drag act on the island.

I snuggled up closer to Jed, safe and secure in his arms, and recalled the journey that had ended up here, wrapped in the arms of my lover, as happy and content as I could be. 

I'd known where I had to go right from the moment Tracy had opened up my stash on that mad dash from London. While she had been counting the notes and inspecting my passport all I could see was the postcard, the one I had rescued from the wreck of fortress Jed. He'd never talked about it but it had been plain as day how important it was to him. I'd put two and two together and just knew I was making four. From Rotterdam I had flown to Madrid and then, from Madrid on to Tenerife. OK, once I got to the island it wasn't quite that simple, there are quite a few bars in quite a few resorts but I had taken my time and, as soon as I had found it I knew that I had come home. 

Belle's Bar. There it was. My name in lights. I went inside and looked around. Nothing fancy, just a bar but nice, tidy and with a little stage at the far end, a little stage just right for...

"I was wondering when you were going to turn up. What took you so long?" Jed appeared from a room behind the bar. "What do you think? Do you like it?"

"Oh, Jed, it's perfect."

He came out from behind the bar and I ran over to meet him. Jed! Jed! My Jed! Oh, how I had missed him. We hugged and hugged and hugged. I was never, ever, going to let him go again.

He closed up there and then, quite happy to lose a day's takings while we made up for lost time. And then, when we were finally sated he showed me around the bar, and the apartment that went with. It was not The Birdcage, it was never going to be The Birdcage, but it was everything I wanted. After a few very basic questions we both just knew that the past was the past. There were things we would never refer to, things that we would never, ever, go back to. We had Belle's Bar, we had the Tenerife weather and, most of all, we had each other.

So, let us leave Jed and Tom to share their lives under the Canarian sunshine and if you happen to be in Tenerife and happen to stumble across Belle's Bar go on in. Jed mixes a mean cocktail and Belle's act is most nights at nine. Have a great time but please, don't tell Harry Applegate!