2 comments/ 50310 views/ 2 favorites Pony-Boy By: SexySusan I'm in the mood for action tonight. It's been a while since we've played, you and me have both been very busy. But even though it's late again, and I've had a hard day at work, I'm too horny to just fall into bed like the other nights. To hell with sleep. I'm in Domme mood. I'm wearing my favorite, a champagne colored corsage with suspenders, lace stockings in a matching color, and steel grey high heels. I'm also wearing your favorite: no panties. My long blonde hair is tied into a bun, I hate it when it keeps falling into my face. If you're really good, I might let it down later, so that you can play with it. If you're really good. You are still wearing your jeans and t-shirt from work, and I make a mental note to get back to that later. I don't like it when my little boy smells like sweat and cigarettes from the office. You look up from the computer and can tell by my attire that you won't get to sleep soon. I love that spark in your eyes which tells me you've been wanting this as much as I do. Immediately you get up, walk over to me and kneel beside me, bowing your head. "You look especially beautiful tonight, Mistress. May I ask how I can please you." "First of all, take off those stinking clothes and shower. And wash yourself really thorougly." "Yes Mistress. Of course. I should have done that without you reminding me. I apologize." You bite your lip, probably cursing yourself for being so negligent. "Well it's too late for apologies now, better get going before we lose even more time." "Yes Mistress." You rush off, hoping to make up … you should know me better by now. As you return, you're wearing nothing but a towel around your hip. You are a little unsure since I didn't give you any directions and haven't laid out any clothes either. "Drop the towel, you won't need it." Immediately you do, I must say, once I got your attention, you are very obedient. I get up and walk around you, admiring your tall body, your broad shoulders. It fills my heart with warmth and pride that such a strong intelligent man is giving the gift of his submission to me. I must have had a smile on my face, because you start to smile too. I quickly gather myself, I need to be focused for the ride I have in mind. "Bend over!" Quickly you do. I caress your back with my hand, running my fingernail down your spine and causing a delightful shiver. "Spread your ass cheeks." I take a close look. Judging from the deep red color of your butthole, you've frantically cleaned it. This could either mean you're really trying not to give me any more reason for complaint, or you're hoping our actions will take a certain course. I run my fingernails up your thigh, and fondle your balls. Your dick is already raising its head. "Get up", I say, before I tentatively lick my finger for you to see, then bend over, displaying my cleavage, and run my wet fingertip around your cock, spreading the emerging pre-cum lasciviously all over its tip. Satisfied, I see your balls contract and your prick jump to full attention. "Get my bag, and fetch me a glass of red currant juice in one of my crystal goblets." As you return, carefully balancing one of my most expensive pieces of crystal, you find me relaxing in my easy chair. You obsequiously hand me the goblet, and I revel in the deep red sparkles it dispenses. "Open the bag, and lay out all the items you find inside. There are a few which you haven't seen before." One by one, you take out a crop, lube, nipple clamps, your cock ring and cuffs while I sip the delicious red nectar. A little surprised look passes across your face as you also find a butt plug with pony tail, a bit gag that is shaped like a harness, including reigns, and some rope. You look at me questioningly. "That's right, I did some online shopping. I had these reigns made after my very own design. I thought it would be fun to add some role-play to our repertoire." I casually pick up the cock ring and slip it onto you. I want your dick to stay hard and big as long as possible. Then I reach into a side pocket of my bag and retrieve a rubber glove. Carefully lubing my fingers, I go back to your rear end. Without command, you bend over and spread your butt cheeks again. "You were hoping for this, weren't you?" "Yes Mistress." "Well then ask for it like a good little boy." "Please Mistress, stretch my asshole. Please fuck me with your fingers." "How much do you want it?" "I want it really badly, Mistress. I need you to fuck my butthole." I carefully insert a finger and wriggle it around. You're pretty used to it, so you losen up easily. Soon I can add a second finger, but as you begin to push back and sway your hips, I withdraw. Quickly I reach for the butt plug and shove it into your gaping hole. "Don't drop it, or you'll be in deep trouble!" Next, I tie your hands behind your back. I add some rope, tying your arms above your ellbows, rendering you even more helpless. Finally, I slip the harness over your head. You willingly open your mouth so that I can insert the bit gag. It doesn't make it impossible for you to talk, but it certainly makes it much harder, and I'm pretty sure you'll be drooling soon. I buckle the straps tighly, not that you could get out or even want to, but just to remind you … "See, now here's my little invention. I had these extra straps attached to the reins, and guess where they go?" I pick up the nipple clamps. Fingering first one nub, then the other, until they are nice and perky, I slowly let those iron mouths bite into your flesh. They're not too tight, so you can keep them on for quite a while. So far, this is nothing new. But now I add the straps from your reins, running them underneath your arms and attaching them to the nipple clamps from the side. "See the beauty of this? When I pull the reins, I can tear your nipples at the same time! I'm a genius!" You nod your head, less in approval, rather to test your limitations, to get a feeling for the harness. I can't believe it, already you're starting to behave like a pony! I step back and admire my work. Circling around you, I take it all in. It's perfect, just like I imagined. "Run a few rounds for me, little pony. And don't forget to shake your tail." You manage a muffled "Yeff Mifftreff", for which I pull on the reins, giving your nipples a sharp and painful tug. "You're a pony now, and ponies don't talk. You may whinny, snort, nod or shake your head. You may also paw or stamp your foot. But that's it." This time, you only nod. Then you start running. I'm leading you by the reins, making you run in circles around me. I pick up the crop and start slapping your butt rhythmically. "Don't forget to shake your tail!" You pick up speed, trying to escape my crop, but to no avail. Beads of sweat are forming on your naked chest and back, your breath gets faster and faster while I, too, increase the pace of my slaps. Finally, you're almost stumbling over your own feet, and I lower the crop. "Brrrrr, my pony, stop, this is enough for now." You stand still, breathing heavily, sweating, knees shaking, drool running down the corners of your mouth. I walk over to you and whisper in your ear: "You're a very beautiful stud. You'd breed a fine race." I start fondling your balls. "Maybe I should milk you and sell your semen to another breeder. Wouldn't that be fun? Or maybe even take you to a fair and have you mount a pretty mare while I watch." The red color on your face is suddenly deepening. I know that this sort of treatment is humiliating for you, especially the idea of showing you off and making you fuck another woman with me watching. At the same time, these ideas undoubtedly arouse you, as I can easily tell by your throbbing dick. You shake your head and snort. "I know." I run my hand across your butt, which is turning a nice shade of pink from the treatment with my crop. I start slapping it, alternating between rubbing and slapping, until it is nice and red, ignoring your flinches. "Get over it, you wuss. You know I like it red." You just nod your head in willing compliance. "We still have to discuss the issue of your smelly and dirty appearance this afternoon. You know I expect you to be sufficiently clean when you are in my presence, that means, at least get out of your work clothes and take a shower." You nod and hang your head. "For this transgression, I will deal you ten blows with the handle of my crop. You will thank me for each blow by saying ‘thank you Mistress'." I carefully aim, I really don't want to hit you on your hands, and deal you the first blow on your already abused butt. I hear a sharp intake of breath, then a muffled "Fank you Mifftreff." Number two and three you take amazingly well, but after the sixth I can see tears running down your face. But you don't cry out, and don't forget to thank me after each blow. As the handle hits you for the twelfth time, I can almost hear you say "thank God" as you thank me. "You handled this very well. Next time, you won't be so careless, will you?" You shake your head. I go to the bathroom and retrieve a clean towel, wipe the tears and drool off your face, rub your sweaty body down as it is appropriate for a pony that's just been taken for a stiff ride. You snort and nudge my neck, resting your chin trustingly on my shoulder. I grant you a moment of closeness, then I walk behind you and take off the rope and cuffs, freeing your arms again. Thanks to the cockring, you're still sporting a raging hard-on. "Would you like permission to come, pony?" You nod frantically. As I said, it's been a while since we've played. Once more, I sink into my easy chair, but this time I spread my legs wide for you to see. Slowly I reach for the crop and insert the handly deeply into my dripping wet pussy. This little game has certainly turned me on, and I'm glad I added it to our list of activities. I pull the crop out again and motion you to come over. You drop to your knees and look up to me trustingly. I run the handle all around your gaping mouth, covering your lips in my juice. "Bow your head." It only takes a few moments to release the harness. Again, I hold the crop up to your lips. "Kiss it." You do, and I wonder if you're thinking about the pain this little thing caused only moments ago, or if your reveling in the pleasure of my taste. Both, probably. "Take off your cock ring. You may start jerking off now. But don't come before I say so." I shove the grip back into my cunt, rub my clit with my free hand, and it doesn't take long until I'm bucking my hips and throwing my head back into the cushions. You're working your shaft at an impressive speed now, and I can tell by the look in your eyes you're having a hard time holding back your orgasm. Seeing you kneeling there before me, your nipples still clamped and your butt still plugged, is enough to send me over the edge and I come in a shattering orgasm. When my knees finally stop shaking, I reach for your nipple clamps and take them both off at once. "You may come now, pony" is all it takes, and you spurt a huge load while I rub your nipples. After that, you just collapse at my feet, and I think you don't even notice when I pull out the plug. "Clean this up, then come join me in the bathroom." You grab my ankles and kiss both of my feet tenderly. "Thank you Mistress." Pony Boy Usual disclaimers, we're all fictional and all over eighteen. In particular I did a Google search for Acme East Talent agency and they don't appear to exist. If one does then I can assure you that the one featured in this story is, like all the characters, purely fictional and any resemblance is purely coincidental. Secondly, this is a story about pony boys. Unless reading about pony boys rocks your boat then, well, you're not going to find too much here for you. Hey, don't let me stop you reading it, like Ben, you never know until you try, but you have been warned! Enjoy. * "You have got to be joking!" I said in amazement as Andy told me about Jason's latest exploits. "No, straight up. That's what he said and, you know Jason," Andy replied, "he'll exaggerate for the sake of a good story but he never actually makes things up." I did indeed know Jason. He was the most flamboyant member of our little circle and, like the rest of us, in his second year at college. A drama student, he treated his life as one big drama and he felt sure that it was only a matter of time before he was 'spotted' and whisked away to a life of fame in the West End, of possibly Broadway. The rest of us were somewhat less convinced of his Thespian abilities but he was fun to have around and his skill as a mimic often had us in stitches. Anyway, it appeared that Jason, in his eternal search for a way onto the stage, had applied to what he thought was a theatrical agency. However, when he had gone for an interview, it had turned out that what they were recruiting for was only theatrical in the very broadest sense of the term. "So, let's get this straight," I said, seeking confirmation of what I had heard. "He goes to this place and it turns out it's a front for pony boy racing? What the fuck is pony boy racing?" "I'm just telling you what Jason told me. I gather they wanted him to dress up like a pony and then they enter into races." "And I assume we're not talking pantomime horse, here," I laughed. "Well if we are then it's an 'X' rated pantomime. Jason said that the 'costume' was little more than a few bits of leather strapping and absolutely nothing was left to the imagination." "Sounds a bit kinky to me," I commented. "Well, duh! Of course it's kinky. That's what it's all about. It's nothing more than a way to give dirty old men an excuse to watch young men parading around naked. Whatever floats your boat, I suppose. However, there must be plenty of people who are prepared to pay for it. Jason was saying that he was offered a ton for a night's work." "A ton! A hundred quid! For one night! Mind you, you'd have to pay me a lot more than that before I'd parade around buck naked in front of a load of pervs." "Yeah, even Jason felt it wouldn't exactly enhance his CV." And that, we thought, was the end of it. We had a good laugh and assured ourselves that we would never, ever, do anything like that, whatever the money. Or so I thought. You know the way it happens. It never rains but it pours. First it was the car which failed its MOT test. The garage said it needed a new exhaust and tyres before I could put it back on the road and the bill was horrendous. Then my laptop decided not to boot and needed its hard drive replacing. That didn't come cheap either. And then, with my finances reeling, Andy came to me with this plan to go to the Far East for the summer vac. He'd found this fantastic deal which would save us a fortune but he needed a deposit of two hundred quid and he needed it pretty pronto. Two hundred or two million, it didn't make any difference, I simply didn't have it. On the other hand, the thought of missing out on all that fun was unbearable. Maybe if I lived on beans on toast and stayed away from the Union Bar I might be able to find the money and survive until the end of term. Living off beans on toast was just about manageable but my social life revolved around the bar and if I couldn't afford the occasional pint.... No, it simply wasn't an option. I tried phoning my folks but the old man had made it clear that paying my tuition had already pushed him to the limit and there was no way he would cough up for something as frivolous as a holiday. There was the usual guff about learning the value of money and all the other things dads say but what there wasn't was the cash. Was I really going to be the only one who couldn't afford it? But, that raised the question of exactly where I was going to find the money. All the suitable jobs in the local area were taken by other students in a similar position and I didn't really have anything I could sell. And then I remembered my conversation with Andy and my own words came back to haunt me. I remembered the conviction with which I'd said 'You'd have to pay me a lot more than that before I'd parade around buck naked in front of a load of pervs'. Well, that was then and this was now. Suddenly a hundred quid seemed a lot more enticing. I mean, I wasn't going to rush into anything but it had to be worth checking out After all, a hundred quid is a hundred quid and, with two nights work, I could have my holiday. The first difficulty was finding out the name and address of the agency but I had a good idea how I could do that. Jason was always fond of the sound of his own voice and it wouldn't take much prompting to get him to retell the story about the time when he found himself applying to be a pony boy by mistake. That very night I made sure I bumped into him in the bar and, as ever, he was full of himself. I guided the conversation around to the agency. "So, didn't the fact that it was called 'Pony Boys International' give you a clue?" I joked. "It wasn't called anything like that, dummo," Jason retorted. "How was I to know that Acme East Talent Agency was anything other than legit?" And there I had it. Acme East Talent Agency. I stored it away in my memory and got on with the rest of the evening. The very next day I was on the internet and it wasn't hard to track them down. They didn't have their own web page but they were listed in a directory which gave me an address and a phone number. I stared at the screen of my laptop. Suddenly this had all got very scary. Was I really going to do this? I took a moment to do some on line banking and the state of my accounts was all the persuasion I needed. After all, I was just enquiring, I wouldn't actually do anything unless... unless... unless.... Well that depended on the outcome of my enquiries. I rang the number and, after a couple of rings, the phone was answered. "Acme East," a female voice said curtly. "Ah, good morning, my name is Ben. A friend told me that you might have work for... for... pony boys." There, I'd said it. "Did he, indeed." The voice at the other end of the phone was full of suspicion. "Did he also tell you that we only deal with personal applications? Because if he didn't he should have done. Office hours are ten 'til four, Monday to Friday." And with that the phone went dead. Evidently Acme East weren't prepared to discuss things over the phone. I had two options: either I had to forget the whole thing or I was going to have to go down there in person. I nearly bottled it but, after another check on my dwindling bank balance, I ended up driving down to Acme East's offices. When I got there it turned out that Acme East was just one of many businesses run from a single office located above a bookies. As I climbed the stairs my heart was pounding and a whole bunch of butterflies were leaping around in my stomach. I knocked on the door and when I entered I found a young woman, presumably a secretary, sat behind a desk. She looked up and gave me a long slow look. "Can I help you?" she asked after a while. "Is this Acme East?" She didn't answer but continued to look me up and down with an amused half smile on her face. In terms of birthdays she probably wasn't more than a couple of years older than me but in terms of street smarts she was in a different league. She didn't say anything but I got the feeling she wasn't over impressed. However she didn't send me away either and, after a moment or two, she picked up the phone and pressed a switch. "Harold," she said into the phone, "we've got a young lad asking about Acme East. Doesn't look like old bill. Doesn't smell like old bill either. Do you want to have a look?" There was a pause as she listened to Harold before she put down the receiver. "OK, you can go on through," she said, pointing at a door behind her. I went on through to the back office which was much larger and brighter. The room was dominated by a huge desk and, sat behind it, was Harold, a corpulent middle-aged man whose disastrous comb-over completely failed to conceal his receding hairline. I stood in front of the desk and he looked me up and down in much the same way that his secretary had done. By the look on his face he seemed to come to the same unflattering conclusions. "So, you're the young man asking about Acme East," he said after a while. "Yes... yes, sir," I replied, fighting down my nerves. "And do you know what sort of agency Acme East is?" he asked. "Pony boys?" I said cautiously. "And what would an innocent young thing like you know about pony boys?" "That you pay one hundred pounds a night." There, I'd said it. Harold just laughed but he did seem to relax a bit. "So, who are you? You're not part of the usual crowd." He asked. "I'm just a student. Thing is, I need some cash and, well, I heard from a friend that you pay well and I wondered..." "I'll bet you wondered," Harold cut across me. "And did your 'friend' tell you what you have to do to earn that hundred pounds?" "I'm not sure but he did say something about races." "That's part of it. They're actually sulky races -- a bit like a rickshaw. And did your friend say anything more?" "No, but I've googled pony boy on the internet and I think I know what's involved. The 'pony boys', they pull these sulkies, isn't that it?" "That's the bunny. And that's what you want to do, is it? You want to be a pony boy and compete in sulky races?" "Well, it's more that I need the money but yes, I guess so." "You guess so? Well you'd better be bloody well sure. Look, sonny," Harold seemed almost angry, "I'm not mucking about here. This is serious business with serious money involved. If you want to be a pony boy then I might be able to use you but I've got no room for time wasters. Either you do or you don't, no guessing. Now, I'll ask you again, do you want to be a pony boy?" "Yes, yes please," I replied. "OK, here's the first test. If you're so sure you want to be a pony boy then, before we go any further, I have to check over the goods." "Check over the goods?" I could feel myself starting to panic again. "God save me from idiots! If I'm going to pay you for prancing around in the all together then I have to know what I'm going to get for my hard earned cash. What's more, if you have problems stripping off in this office then you're not going to be any use to me. What's up? Don't tell me you're shy?" I didn't dare answer. All my confidence had drained away. The reality of what I had let myself in for was just beginning to hit me and the butterflies in my stomach had turned it up to eleven. On the other hand he had a point. I was applying for a job where I would parade around all but naked so it did seem a little strange to be pleading shyness in the relative privacy of his office. However, I found myself unable to move. "I really haven't got time to muck around," Harold said firmly. "Kit off or get out, your choice." It was make your mind up time. I thought about the desperate state of my finances and the lure of Malaysian beaches and compared it to being Billy No Mates stuck behind in England for the summer. If I walked out now then there was no way I could raise the cash. I had no options so I gathered up all the resolve I could and, shaking like a leaf, I took off my jacket and put it over the back of one of the chairs that he, noticeably, hadn't offered me. Harold gave me a look as if he had read every bit of my lack of resolve. "Come on, son, all of it," he said by way of encouragement. My shirt followed my jacket and then my shoes, socks and, rather reluctantly, my jeans. I stood there in just my boxers and looked at him, pleading with my eyes. However he just stared back at me and shook his head gently. I knew what I had to do. I pushed my boxers to the floor and stepped out of them. When I straightened up I was as naked as the day I was born. He motioned with his hand that I should turn around so I did so, pirouetting in front of him. "OK, that'll do," he said at last as I came to a stop facing him. Now give me your hands. He took them, turning them back and forth so that he could look closely at my arms. "Actually, that will do very nicely. Even if you can't run you'll be a nice bit of eye candy. It will make a change to have pony that isn't covered in prison tats and track lines. Now, we need to get a few details." "Can I get dressed now?" I asked, reaching for my clothes. "Not so fast, sonny Jim, not so fast. We're far from finished here. The first thing you need to get used to is standing around naked and the second thing is doing what you're told. First off we need to get you measured. Now stand still with your legs apart and your hands behind your head." I had no fight left on me so, despite the rather demeaning pose, I did as I was told. He reached forward and pressed a button on his phone. Moment's later the secretary arrived at the door carrying a notepad and a tape measure. Horrified I spun away from her and covered my prick with my hands. "Oh, how precious! He's embarassed in front of a lady!" the secretary exclaimed. "And he's the one who wants to be a pony boy. Are you sure he knows what he's letting himself in for?" "He's as innocent as they come but he'll learn fast enough," Harold replied before turning to me. "Now, get back in position. Tracy has to measure you for your harness and she can't do that with you all scrunched up like that. First up, what's your name?" "Err... Ben," I replied as I rather reluctantly put my hands back behind my head. Tracy gave me a smile as she put down her notepad and stretched out her tape measure "I won't ask Ben what. I don't need to know. However, I will need a mobile number." I gave him my mobile number and Tracy wrote it down on the notepad. As Harold was interviewing me she was busy measuring my chest, my waist, my thighs, my everywhere. I tried to concentrate which was far from easy when a young and reasonably attractive woman is putting her tape measure around your upper thighs. "I won't ask if you've done anything like this before?" Harold said. "We both know that that's a 'no', isn't it. Well, here's how it works. We'll contact you a few days before the races using the number I've got here. We then tell you where and when the pick up point is. Your job is to get there and don't be late. We won't wait for you so if you're late you won't get to race and you won't get paid. We then take you to the wherever the race is being held where you'll be put into harness and set up ready for the off. Make sure you wear a decent pair of trainers. No trainers, no racing and, more importantly to you, no cash. I'll pay you eighty pounds just for turning up and twenty pounds for every race you compete in. It's a knock-out competition so the faster you run the more races you win and the more you earn. If you go all the way to the final you get a fifty quid bonus. Gives you a bit more of an incentive. "Because, trust me, it's not just about you prancing around with your dick out. If you've not out there to win you're no good to me. My customers want to see fast, competitive racing and any pony boy who doesn't try doesn't get paid. There's quite a bit of betting on the racing and any suggestion that the races are in any way fixed does not go down well. I know you think I'm some kind of sleazeball but I provide my customers with what they want and I make more than enough from the betting to have any need for race fixing. And that goes for you as well. If someone comes suggesting that you throw a race then you come and tell me. Don't be tempted, whatever the money. Some of my customers are very serious men who do not take kindly to being cheated. Do I make myself quite clear?" "Yes, sir," I replied. "Don't bother with the 'Sir', sonny, I'm Mr H, that what all the lads call me." "Yes, Si... Mr H." "And then there's the other side of things." I could guess what was coming next but even so I was still a bit surprised when Mr H stood up and came round from behind his desk. Tracy had finished taking my measurements and she stood, leaning against the side of his desk, watching as he came up and stood behind me. I felt his hand grab my backside and Tracy smiled at my little squeak of surprise. "My premium customers pay premium prices to get access to the centre enclosure where the ponies are rested between races. They expect, and pay for, the right to inspect the ponies closely so as to assess their form and capabilities. Some of them like to inspect the ponies very closely indeed, if you get my drift." He reached round and I felt his hand grasp my prick. Oh my god! He'd got his hand on my prick! He's... he's wanking me off!All I could do was stand there, keeping my hands behind my head. My breathing was shallow and my heart was going nineteen to the dozen. "Are you going to have any problems with this?" he asked as his fingers played with me. "No, Mr H, not at all, Mr H," I squeaked in reply. Of course I had millions of problems but I knew that 'no' was the only answer I could give. What's more, to my horror, I could feel myself getting hard. I glanced up at Tracy and could see that she was more than amused with my discomfort. She glanced down at my ever growing erection and then looked me straight in the eye and gave me a wink. "Well, you better get used to it because this is part of what they're paying for and all ponies are expected to fully cooperate," he continued. "You're there to please the customers, that's your sole purpose, never forget that. What's more, customers like to tip and those ponies who please the most tend to get the more generous tips. I take twenty five percent of all tips, you keep the rest. "That's during the racing," Mr H went on. "After the racing, some of my customers, if they find a pony who takes their fancy, like to make er... more private arrangements and you'll be expected to cooperate there as well. Make the customers happy, that's what your job is and the happier the customers is the happier everyone else is. Now, cards on the table, do you still want to be a pony boy?" I stood there, stark naked, with Mr H still playing with my now rigid prick, and I thought over what he had said. The real nature of the job had just become clear. "I'm not sure...." I started. In my mind I could see Malaysian beaches but, really, what they were asking.... "They're not paying for shy virgins," he warned me. "I provide a place where my customers can meet pony boys and where pony boys can meet people who like pony boys." He let go of me, came round and stood next to where Tracy was leant against his desk. He looked at my prick which was now jutting out in front of me. "Actually, they might just pay for shy virgins, well this one, anyway. That might be your USP." "USP? I'm sorry, Mr H, I don't know what you mean." "Unique selling point. Most of the little tarts I get are up for anything, well, anything as long as someone is paying enough. On the other hand, for some of the punters, that makes them a bit too easy, if you see what I mean. If you start winning a few races and you won't put out it's going to drive the punters crazy. They'll end up tipping more and more as they try and get you to change your mind. This just might work out OK. Now, the interview is over so you'd best get you kit back on." Pony Boy "So, you're saying I won't have to have sex with the customers," I asked. "You'll have to put up with a certain amount of groping but, by the looks of things, you won't mind that." He pointed at my still hard prick. "But I'll let it be known that you don't do private sessions. I can't say fairer than that. Now, are you in or out?" I had one of those moments. A huge chunk of me knew that I should be running away as far and as fast as I could but something, and it wasn't just the money, made me think twice. As long as I didn't have to do private sessions.... "I'm in," I said with more conviction than I really felt. "Good lad," Mr H replied. "Now, get your kit back on." As I turned to the pile of my clothes Tracy took my details back to the front office where she, presumably, typed them up and filed them away. "Look, sonny," Mr H said once I was finally dressed again. "A word of caution. Some of the guys, well, they can be a bit rough. We don't normally get kids like you in here and, well, you'll stand out as a bit different. Don't let people push you around too much and you'll be OK. I've got a meeting coming up on Thursday where I can use you. Can you make that?" "Yeah, I can do Thursday, Mr H," I replied. "We'll phone you Thursday morning and tell you where the pick up point is. Now, don't let me down." "I won't, Mr H." And so it was that, come Thursday evening, I was standing on the corner of Station Road and Mill Street just as I had been told in the phone call I had got that morning. Shortly after seven o'clock a minibus pulled up and the side door opened. As I went towards it two others emerged from the shadows. I obviously wasn't the only one being picked up. When I climbed into the minibus it was already half full. I looked around, found an empty seat and sat down. The lad in the seat next to me wasn't very friendly so, rather than chat I tried looking out of the windows. That was when I realised that they had been blacked out and if it weren't for the dim glow of the ceiling light we'd be in darkness. It seemed that we weren't allowed to know where we were being taken. That was none of our concern. Five minutes later the minibus stopped again and two more lads got in. "Good evening my pretty little ponies. Is everybody ready for another night of shaggin'?" One of the new arrivals said. "Evenin' Jed," came a number of mumbled replies. "Hello, what do we have here?" Jed asked looking at me. "Fresh meat. I don't think we've seen this one before. What's you're name, fresh meat?" "Ben," I replied. "And which gutter did you crawl out of?" Jed asked. "I didn't crawl out of a gutter," I replied, remembering Mr H's suggestion that I should stand up for myself. "Oh, posh. I didn't crawl out of a gutter," Jed mocked my accent. "Well, you're in the gutter now. I think I'll call you 'scumbag'. What's your name, scumbag?" "My name is Ben and that's the only name I'll answer to," I replied firmly. "Well hark at this one. Grab him, guys!" Hands reached out from behind me and I was pinned down. Jed, bracing himself against the swaying of the van, came over and stood next to me, leaning against the opposite seat. He unzipped the fly of his jeans and pulled out his prick. "You can start by sucking me off. Now, open wide, scumbag." I clamped my mouth shut but he grabbed my hair and pulled my head back. A cry of pain escaped. "If you put your prick anywhere near my mouth I'll bite it off. I'll make you into the eunuch you deserve to be," I snarled. I just hoped my real fear didn't show. Jed just looked at me. I wondered what he would do next. One of us would have to climb down. I just hoped it wouldn't be me but I wasn't sure. And then the partition between the cab and the back of the minibus opened. "What the fuck's going on in there. Oh, it's you, Jed. I might have known. Now settle down and behave. We'll be there in another ten minutes." As the partition closed again Jed sat down muttering 'it's not over between us' but, for the moment at least, the pressure was off. I could also sense that by standing up to Jed I had earned a certain grudging respect from the rest of the lads. The lad sitting next to me even turned towards me and said 'Hi, I'm Jamie' and we shared a smile. Ten minutes or so later the minibus pulled to a halt. The door opened and we all got out. The van had actually parked inside the warehouse and we mooched about waiting to be told where to go. I looked around, seeing how it was all laid out. The warehouse itself was vast, it's roof supported at various points by cast iron pillars. Along two sides there banks of crude wooden seating. In between these an elongated oval course about fifty metres long had been laid out using the sort of temporary barriers you get at road works. This enclosed the centre area where I could see the sulkies arranged in a line. There wasn't much to them, just a light tubular metal frame holding a small seat positioned over two bicycle wheels and with a pair of shafts running forward for harnessing the pony. People were busy setting up bars and refreshment stands as well as three bookies stalls, one at each end and one in the centre circle. While we were waiting another minibus arrived and then another, each disgorging its collection of ponies who came over and joined us. It was easy to spot the ponies, not only were we hanging around in a bunch, we were generally much younger than every one else. I did a quick head count and there seemed to around twenty of us in all. Most of the others looked a bit rough; they were dressed in cheap clothes and in need of a bath and a haircut. I'd heard the term 'rent boy' and guessed that this was what most of them were. Mr H had said I would stick out as different and I definitely did. This didn't help my nerves at all. But we weren't the only ones milling around. There were plenty of others, some busy, some less so. This including quite a few dressed as jockeys in the traditional silks. Mr H ran a pretty big organisation and there was obviously quite a bit of money involved. "Come on girls, shower time," the minibus driver called out and we all trooped after him to a room off the back of the warehouse. He seemed to be acting as mother hen, making sure we were all going to be ready on time. Along one wall there were a number of chairs and, without needing to be prompted, the lads went over and started getting undressed. I followed suit, keeping as far away from Jed as I could. On each chair there was a large white plastic bag and, following the example of the others, as I took off my clothes I put them in the bag. A felt tip pen was passed around and we each wrote our name on the bag so that we could identify it later. Getting undressed in the warehouse was nothing like as embarrassing as it had been in Mr H's office. For a start I wasn't the only one and, well, everyone seemed to be treating it as if it were normal. It was no stranger than it had been in the changing rooms at school. I had quite deliberately brought nothing of value, no wallet, no watch, no mobile phone, just my house keys which were in the pockets of my jeans. Once we were naked we were led to a communal shower area. Following the others I picked up some hair shampoo and soap from a bucket, got under the showers and started to wash myself down. All the while the minibus driver was walking back and forth, keeping an eye on things and reprimanding those who he felt weren't making enough effort to get clean, especially around the groin. He reminded me of a gym teacher I had suffered from at school. It wasn't quite clear how much of his enthusiasm for ensuring we washed every nook and cranny was professional and how much was more prurient. "Hey, scumbag," Jed called out. I purposely ignored him. "Hey, scumbag," Jed called out again. "I bet you haven't got one this big." This time I couldn't help but glance across. Jed was soaping his prick, openly playing with himself and, to be fair, he was pretty well endowed. "See this prick? See how big it is? You'll be on your knees, sucking every inch of it before this night is over, scumbag. Just you wait and see." This provoked laughter from some of the other ponies. I just turned away from him and went back to washing myself. By the time we were clean and dry Mr H had arrived. Shivering slightly and dressed in nothing but our trainers, the minibus driver lined us up along a wall and Mr H came over and inspected us closely. Every inch was scrutinised, foreskins were pulled back and ponies were told to bend over and spread their arse cheeks. I don't know whether Mr H had any real medical training or just lots of experience but he rejected a couple of the lads as 'having the pox'. Another was rejected because he had an open sore on his leg, another for being high on drugs. Dejectedly they were told to go and get dressed again. By the time he had finished he had whittled us down to sixteen. Now that he had selected his ponies he went to a table and fetched a pile of tabards, each one a simple slip over vest with a large number on the front. He wandered up and down the line handing them out. I was last with number sixteen. "All right, you know the drill, get in your pairs," he called out. The pony wearing number one went to stand next to number two, number three with four and so on. I found number fifteen and we stood together. Once again we lined up against the wall and, once again, he looked us over critically. Because, even then, he wasn't quite satisfied. After some discussion with the minibus driver some of the pairs were swapped around. I began to understand the point of all this. He knew most, if not all, of the ponies, knew their capabilities, knew how fast they were and he was seeding us so as to get the most competitive races. He was taking this just as seriously as if we were real ponies and this was Ascot or Newmarket. Finally he was happy with the order and it was time to get us into harness. The minibus driver went to call in the jockeys and, as the came into the room, Mr H assigned each one to a pony. The one who came up to me was middle aged and looked pretty grumpy but at least he was small and light. "Come on then," he said gruffly and, along with the others, he led me back into the main body of the warehouse and over to where the sulkies had been laid out in a row. As with the tabards the sulkies had numbers clearly displayed and, inevitably, number sixteen was right down at the far end. When we got to the sulky there, on the ground between the shafts, was a collection of leather strapping which I took to be the harness. My jockey ordered me to stand between where the shafts lay on the ground, took off my tabard, and picked up a leather belt, eight inches wide and with three buckles fastening it at the back. At either side of this there were 'D' rings from which hung leather cuffs attached by a short length of chain. He fastened the belt around my waist and then cuffs around my wrists and tightened the buckles until all was snug. Then he had me kneel down so that he could fit the bridle. I've no idea how authentic it was. After all, a pony boy's head is a very differently shape from a real pony, but, by the time all the straps and buckles were fastened, my head was all but encased, my vision had been limited by a pair of blinkers and my mouth was full of a metal bit which acted as a pretty effective gag. What I wasn't expecting was the way the blinkers didn't just point forward. They could also be folded inwards which my jockey did so that I was not just gagged but also effectively blindfolded. But, if the blinkers were unexpected they had nothing on what came next. My jockey guided me forward, holding my shoulders to stop me falling and lowering me down until my head was touching the ground and my arse was uppermost. This really should have warned me but I was so naïve that, even when hee pushed my knees further apart, I didn't know what he was doing. Then I felt something cool being squeezed into the crack between my arse cheeks. Almost immediately this was followed by something hard and blunt being pushed against my sphincter. I didn't know what it was but I was making wild guesses and, whatever it was, it felt far too big to fit where he was trying to push it. I tried to cry out and squirm away. My jockey stopped what he was doing but only to come round and crouch down next to my head. "You're new, aren't you?" he asked. I just nodded, well as much as I could with my face against the floor. "Ponies don't talk, they don't complain, and they certainly don't muck around when it's time to put on their harness. You just kneel on the floor like a good little boy, shut up and take what's coming," he snarled. "I haven't got time to mess around with silly little pillocks. This is part of your tail, the part that gets shoved up your arse. It's what ponies have, all of them, and it's going in whether you like it or not. Now, it can go in easy or it can go in hard so I suggest you get used to the idea and get used to it fast. Are you going to stay still or am I going to have any more fuss?" I just knelt there and he took my silence for acquiescence so he went back to my rear end and placed one hand on my buttocks. With his other he returned to pushing what I now knew to be my tail into my anus. "Don't fight it. Push back, like you're taking a shit," my jockey advised now that I was cooperating. When I did so, it seemed to get easier. Mind you, easier is still a relative term. The 'tail', or rather the plug on the end of it that he was forcing up me, was far, far wider than my sphincter and the only way I could stop myself from screaming out loud was to bite down on the bit so hard I must have left teeth marks. And then, just when I thought I couldn't take any more, the widest part went past my sphincter and it got a lot easier. There seemed to be some sort of neck around which my sphincter had closed, holding the plug in place. Now that it was in it was no longer agony but, for certain, I wasn't ever going to forget that it was there. I'd be walking, no make that racing, with a waddle when the time came. My jockey wiped the excess lubricant from my arse cheeks and helped me to my feet. He told me to stand with my feet wide apart while he finished off the last part of my harness. This appeared to be two straps which connected to the intruder in my arsehole. One ran up between my arse cheeks and fastened off to the belt. The other end was led forward. I wondered whether I was going to be fitted with some sort of cod piece and, in a way, I guess I was. The strap which ran up the front seemed to widen like a cod piece but, instead of covering me up, there was some sort of hole though which my prick and balls were none too gently squeezed. This front bit was then fastened to my belt so that it was as if I were wearing some sort of leather 'G' string. As a finishing touch he took my prick, played with it until I had an erection, and then placed it against the leather front of the 'G' string where he fastened it in place with three smaller straps maybe an inch or so apart. He did these straps up very tightly and it was clear that my prick, and my erection, were going nowhere. Now that the harnessing was completed my jockey pushed me gently backwards until he had me in position. As I moved I could feel something, presumably my tail, tickling the backs of my thighs. He took my right hand and held it out as far as it would stretch. I felt the shaft of the sulky being placed against my palm. I curled my fingers around the rubber grip and held it tight. Not that I needed to particularly. There was a brief tug on my wrist and a metallic click as the wrist cuff was chained to the shaft. By the time my jockey had got to my left hand I had already reached out and found the sulky shaft so all he had to do was fasten the clip. I gently pulled against the shafts to test how the sulky rolled but it would seem that the wheels were locked as they didn't want to move. The final piece of the jigsaw was a short hobble, maybe six inches of rigid bar fixed between two ankle cuffs. With this fitted I was blindfolded, gagged, hobbled and chained to the sulky. I was going nowhere. My jockey told me firmly that if I didn't stand up straight and make him proud then he would use his whip to make me do so. I had no reason to disbelieve him so, as best I could, I stood to attention. And then..., and then nothing. I listened hard trying to see if I could make out where my jockey was but I couldn't hear a thing and, I presume, he must have just left me. Since we had been taken to the showers everything had all happened too suddenly and, it was only now that I was finally alone, that I was able to take in just what I had let myself in for. I had been completely unprepared for the intensity of the experience. I hadn't expected to feel so controlled, so powerless, so completely at the mercy of people I didn't know and didn't trust. Mr H had warned me that I was naïve and innocent but he had made it all sound pretty friendly. I hadn't expected to feel so processed, I was a pony and I was treated as a pony. Mr H had talked about how my USP was being the 'shy virgin' who refused to be fucked. So far I had had absolutely no say in anything that had been done to me and, bound, gagged and blindfolded, I couldn't see just how I was to voice my refusal. The tail had been shoved up my arse whether I wanted it or not. How would I prevent anything else being shove up there? But, for all that that was terrifying, what I certainly hadn't bargained on was the exotic thrill that it gave me. Behind the fear, the very real fear and uncertainty, there was an expectation. Part of me feared what was coming next; a lot more of me was trembling in anticipation. I'd always been sexually shy; indeed, I was probably the only one of my friends who was still a virgin, and yet, here I was with the very real prospect of some very rough sex indeed, whether I wanted it or not. But it was the lack of choice that got to me. With no choices came no responsibilities. It had been quite clear, right from the moment I that got into the minibus, that we ponies were there simply for the sexual gratification of the punters. No one gave a toss about who we were or how we felt. We were mere playthings to be used and abused as they desired. This meant that whatever I did, or was done to me, I could, and almost certainly would, indulge in rough sex Sure I was scared but the straps around my prick seemed to tighten and my erection, if anything, got harder. And, adding to all this was the way the blindfold heightened my sense of unreality. Although I could hear people moving around me I wasn't part of it, I was divorced from my surroundings. Someone quite close to me enquired loudly whether 'Barry' had sorted out the refrigeration unit for the bar but we ponies, now that we were harnessed up, were all but forgotten. Put aside to wait until we were needed. After a while the punters started to arrive. It wasn't obvious at first but slowly the background noise started to rise and I could tell that there were a lot more people in the warehouse. More and more, the people who walked past didn't have the purposeful stride of someone who has a job to do; there were those who far more leisurely, who were dawdling and, I suddenly realised, inspecting us ponies. "'Arold!" a voice cried out from right in front of me. "What's this pulling sulky sixteen. I've not seen this one before." "Ah yes, College Boy," Mr H said as he bustled over. "Came into the office the other day and said he wanted to be a pony boy." "Can he race?" "I've no idea and that's the god's honest truth. This is his first meeting. I've given him an easy oppo on his first time out and, after that, well, we'll have to see." Pony Boy I could feel hands on my legs, my stomach, my biceps, not in a sexual way but testing my muscle tone. "What odds are you giving? "Eleven to ten on, at the moment. As I haven't seen him run I can't say fairer than that, can I?" Mr H answered. "Eleven to ten, I'll take some of that." The hands stopped feeling my flesh and he came and stood very close in front me. "I'm going to put two hundred on that pretty little arse of yours," he whispered in my ear. "Bring it home for me and I might just...." A hand, presumably his, cuddled my balls and gently stroked my prick through its cage of straps. And that was just the start of it. As the new kid on the block I got plenty of interest and, without any previous form to judge me on, it seemed like each and every one of them needed to feel my body so as to judge whether I would be able to perform. Unseen hands would feel my legs, my arms, my stomach. More that a few also had a good feel of my prick and balls, although I can't see how that would effect my performance. "Ladies and gentleman," a voice came over the tannoy, "welcome to this evening's entertainment. As you can see from your race cards we have a knockout competition with sixteen starters. The first round of races will be held over four laps of the course. We'll be starting the first race in a few minutes and this will feature Thunderbolt pulling sulky one on the inside lane and Night Angel pulling sulky two on the outside. You've just a few more minutes until the betting closes so get your bets in now. Stewards, please arrange for the ponies to be brought to the start line." I did a few sums in my head. The course was about fifty meters each way but you had to add a bit for the corners. I would guess that four laps would be about five hundred metres or a little over quarter of a mile. That's quite a way to pull a sulky. Meanwhile the anticipation was mounting. I couldn't see a thing but I hardly needed to. There was a general rise in excitement and then the 'off'. The tannoy kept up a running commentary and, although Thunderbolt got away first, Night Angel pulled back during the fourth lap and snuck home. The din as they had come down the home straight was deafening. "That'll do," I heard a voice say near to me. "I had five hundred on Night Angel." "Lucky you. I had a couple of ton on Thunderbolt. How about this one?" "Dunno, I mean, he's not as scrawny as the usual crew, he's not a smoker, either, so he should be fit. Doesn't mean he can run though. I wonder where 'Arold found 'im." "Who cares if he can run as long as he can fuck. He's a pretty little thing, not like the usual scags we get here. Makes a change not to see track lines." "So, do you fancy his pretty little lips wrapped around your prick then?" "I fancy shagging that cute arse of his and if you tell me that you don't as well then I'm calling you a liar." As if to illustrate his point the speaker reached over and groped my arse cheek. Meanwhile the ponies were being lined up ready for the second race, and then the third, the fourth and so on. With each race the moment of truth got closer. As they were going in numerical order it didn't take much to work out that I would be in the eighth race, which was fast approaching. The sixth race was just finishing when I felt the hobble being removed from between my ankles. Then there was a jerk from the shafts of the sulky as, presumably, my jockey took his seat. I was still blindfolded but I could feel that the brakes had been taken off and the sulky was now free to move. I waited patiently until, as the seventh race got under way, someone took hold of the side of my bridle and led me forward. As I followed blindly I could feel the plug in my bottom being pulled by the strap that ran between my thighs. It was easier if I moved in a stiff legged walk rather than striding out. At least my competitor was going to be handicapped in a similar fashion. There was another short wait while the seventh race ended and I could sense that sulky fifteen was being lined up beside me. Then the seventh race ended and we were led out onto the course. When we were in position the blinkers were opened up and I could see again. Not that I could see much. It took a while before my eyes got used to the light and even then blinkers limited my vision. They were no longer acting as a blindfold but they still projected forward either side of my face, limiting my sight to straight ahead. I tried to turn my head sideways so as to check out my opponent but the hand holding my bridle was ready for this and my head was tugged sharply back again, causing the bit to tug at my lips quite painfully. "This is the last race in round one and we have a brand new pony for you. Ladies and gentlemen, let me introduce College Boy who is running for the first time tonight and is on the inside track pulling sulky sixteen. On the outside, pulling sulky fifteen, is your old favourite, Black Coffee." There was cheering from the crowd. The hand holding my bridle let go and I looked up to see a man walk in front of us holding a flag. I heard the tannoy say "they're under starters orders and... they're off!" The man lowered the flag and, on my left, I sensed more than saw, sulky fifteen pulling ahead. I had completely missed the start. I felt something stinging against my buttocks. Evidently my jockey had some sort of whip and was using it to inform me that I ought to be running. I tugged at the shafts of the sulky, trying to get some traction and trying to catch Black Coffee who was already in front of me. Once I got moving it wasn't that bad. I had to ignore the tugging coming from the plug in my backside but with every stride I took but the sulky was easy to pull and I was soon catching up with Black Coffee. I knew that holding the inside track around the bend at the end of the course was going to be crucial and I put everything I had into a burst of speed to ensure that he couldn't cut across me as we went into the bend. The bend turned out to be much sharper than I had anticipated and I could feel the sulky slipping sideways behind me. It took every ounce of my strength to balance the opposing forces that tried to tip the sulky over and to throw it off the track. More by luck than good judgement I just managed to do so until, at last, we were on the back straight. Now I could put my head down and go for it and I was gaining in confidence. I was still behind Black Coffee as we came out of the bend but it wasn't long before I had drawn level and my comparatively healthy lifestyle was beginning to bear fruit. I wasn't the world's keenest sportsman but plenty of afternoons were spent playing footie and I knew I could run and keep on running. I was well ahead by the next bend and I knew I could easily keep ahead of him so I began to pace myself. If I won this race, and it seemed that I ought to, then there would be another to follow, and, with a bit of luck, another to follow that. By the time we got to the fourth lap I was almost lapping Black Coffee and decided to come home with a bit of class. I put my head up and trotted home, mimicking the high kneed gait of a real pony. I certainly got a lot of cheers from the stands even if my backside did complain. If there had been a lot of interest in me before it was nothing compared to when I was led back into the centre enclosure. My jockey got plenty of congratulations which I thought was a bit rich. All he had done was sit there. I had worked out the race tactics myself. I was led back to the line of sulkies and, once again parked up. Fortunately this time, my blinkers were left open. My jockey left only to return a few moments later with a bottle of water, a sponge, a bucket and a pile of towels. He manoeuvred the mouth of the bottle past the bit of my bridle and gave a good squeeze so I could take a well needed drink. Then he sponged me down, letting the cool water run down my body before towelling me off. Ostensibly this was to supposed to reduce the effects of the racing but it was also all about pampering a winning pony. I felt like a boxer resting in his corner. The strap between my thighs and the plug stuck up my arse would both take their toll in time but, right then, right there I felt fine. I had just got the taste for winning. Sure, the circumstances were beyond bizarre, but the elation of crossing the line first, along with the cheers of the punters, had been a heady brew, one I wished to taste again. I didn't need to be ordered to do my best to win. I was going to do so anyway. Quite a crowd had gathered around me and, slightly to my relief, in amongst them was Mr H. I know you shouldn't judge a book by its cover but most of the punters looked like very shady types. East End gangsters each and every one of them. I began to appreciate what Mr H had said about cheating; these guys looked like they had their own ways of dispensing justice and I wouldn't want to be on their bad side. Slightly to my surprise the punters weren't all men. Here there was the occasional woman but they were mostly arm candy, there to make their partner look good. "So where did you find this one," one of the spectators asked Mr H. "That would be spoiling the mystery," Mr H replied with a laugh. "He's certainly got more class than the rest of 'em." "And he can run too," cut in another. "Who is up against next?" "He's racing Stretford Lad. He's ten to one on favourite," Mr H replied. "Ten to one on? That's hardly worth betting on." "Yeah, but this boy can run and I've got to make a profit, haven't I? Anyway, maybe you'll find the odds for which round of the tournament he'll get to more to your liking." At that point the guy who had told me before the race that he was going to bet two hundred on me came pushing through the crowd. "Can I spot 'em or can I spot 'em!" he said triumphantly. "Knew you were a dead cert, as soon as I set eyes on you!" He came up to me and, as one hand reached down for my balls the other pulled me into him and he hugged me long and hard, kissing my cheek as he did so. I could tell he would be kissing my mouth, tongue and all, if the bit had not been in the way. "Come 'ere my little beauty. You walked all over 'im." He said and I nearly choked on the beery fumes coming from his mouth. "OK, Baz, that's enough," Mr H called out and, slightly reluctantly, Baz let me go. However, he told me to open wide and, before he left, he poked two twenties past the bit in my mouth. "I'm going to fuck you later, I'll fuck you 'till you scream for mercy, you see if I don't," he said with a big smile on his face. "College Boy is not ready for stud yet. He's for racing only," Mr H said firmly. Meanwhile my jockey removed the notes from my mouth and handed them to Mr H. "What do you mean, not ready for stud. If ever I saw a pony who was ready for stud it's this one." "Sorry, gents, it's part of the contract. Now, if you're all quite ready, it's time for the next round of races and I'm sure you'll all be wanting to watch College Boy in race four." People started to drift away, some towards the refreshment tables, some towards the bookie's stalls and some to inspect the other ponies. Although quite a few stayed in my general area, for the first time since the blindfold had come off I had a chance to relax and have a good look around. There were now eight of us ponies left in the races and we were all lined up ready to go. To keep the racing fair the harnesses were identical and, by looking at the next pony along, I could see now how the harness used the strap which ran up the arse crease to hold the tail in such a way that it appeared to come from the base of the spine and look more realistic than projecting straight our of the anus. Each pony also had his prick strapped up in the same way that I did, the pale flesh standing out starkly against the dark leather 'V' over the groin. I suppose I should have found it all a bit kinky, sordid even, but actually even these lads from the streets had a certain grace about them as they stood tall and proud between the shafts. I'd never really looked at guys in this way before but I could see how they were, dare I say it, beautiful. I thought about the recent Olympics and how I had been enthralled by the grace and beauty of the athletes bodies and, while these ponies were no Olympians, there was something about them that appealed to the same senses. And then the races restarted. I watched the first two with interest. This second round was over six laps, not four but, even so, having the inside lane gave quite a significant advantage as it was quite a bit further around the outside of the corners. If you were going to overtake then it was best to do it on one of the straights so as to be into the corner in time to cut your rival off from that vital inside lane. I was in the third race and, after my easy victory in the first round, there was quite a bit of interest in me. My opponent went off like a rocket but I knew better than that. I let him get ahead, not too far ahead, but enough to let him do all the work. My jockey just saw that I was behind and was working his whip against my buttocks which stung and annoyed rather than really hurt. Then, with two laps to go, I reached for the reserves I knew I had but hoped that my opponent didn't. Even so, I timed it badly and hadn't got all the way past him which meant that I had to run all the way around the outside of the bend before storming down the straight. A significant portion of the crowd were calling for me. "College Boy! Come on College Boy!" This seemed to lift me and I charged into the next bend almost too fast and I could feel the sulky starting to tip. I fought with the shafts and managed to get it back under control. Then, with only one lap to go, I gave it all I had, leaving my opponent standing and storming over the line. God it felt so good! Now there was a real buzz about the place and I was the centre of it all. I'd never been the focus of attention like this and I'll admit that I was lapping it up. I had totally forgotten about my fears. I was king of the race course, winning and loving every minute of it. I was led back into the centre enclosure with people slapping my back and, once again, congratulating my jockey on his tactics. As my jockey sponged me down we were the centre of quite a crowd and more than a few had been betting on me. Even at the crazy odds, they had made money and I picked up quite a bit in tips which they would tuck into my belt or put in my mouth. My jockey was collecting all this up ready to hand over to Mr H. That left four of us for the third round, the semi finals. I was two races away from winning. The fact that I was basically naked in front of all these people was now irrelevant, I was winning! I glanced across and, of course, one of the other three was Jed. With us both wearing blinkers I couldn't see his eyes but I knew that my winning must rankle. 'Suffer, you bastard,' I thought to myself. There's a new kid in town and I'm it. And, as luck would have it, in the next round, it was Jed, or Dark Arrow to call him by his pony name, that I was up against. The number of laps had been increased to eight and it was going to be quite a long haul to the finish line. I reckoned that suited me. Jed was strong, I had no doubts about that, but I had the stamina and, before the end of the race I would reel him in. I had no fears, I was on fire, I was unbeatable! Bring it on! I had the inside lane and, as we set off, I knew I could keep it into the first corner. Jed had pulled maybe half a length ahead but that didn't worry me. I knew I had it over a smoker like Jed. What I wasn't ready for was the way that every time I got close he would cut across me, forcing me into the barrier and, to prevent a crash, my jockey had to pull me back quite sharpish which ruined my rhythm and hurt my mouth where the bit cut into the corner of my lips. I came back at him down the straight and, to my delight, he'd left a gap on his inside. I could use it to overtake him, to go the shorter route but, just as I went for it, just as I steamed into the gap suddenly it wasn't there any more. At the last moment he'd closed it off and, once again, my jockey had to pull me back. At the next corner the same thing happened, and again, and again. I was fuming, determined not to lose this race so, as we came to the last but one I stormed down after him but, instead of going for the inside, I went the other way. I could hear the crowd screaming at me, "Come on, College Boy! Come on, you can do it!" They say that pride comes before a fall. Jed had already shown me that he was the master of tactics and now, through my own stupidity, I'd let my anger hurl me into the corner far too fast. I fought with the shafts of the sulky, trying to keep it upright and we were all but there when my foot slipped. The sulky went over, taking me with it. With my wrists locked to the shafts there was nothing I could do to protect myself and, tangled up in the sulky, I crashed heavily into the barricading. I lay there gasping, wondering whether I had broken a rib or something but that was nothing compared to the pain of knowing I had been run off the race track by Jed. Maybe I wouldn't be literally sucking his prick but, lying in a heap on the racecourse I felt as humiliated as if I were doing. I was helped to my feet and led back into the centre enclosure in stony silence. Not only had I lost but so had quite a few of the punters. There had been quite a lot of money riding on me and I was suddenly no longer flavour of the month. Mr H came hurrying over but, secretly, I knew he was delighted. Ask any bookie whether they want the favourite to crash and burn. There was no drink, no bucket and no sponge this time. Mr H and my jockey quickly checked me over and, once it was clear that there were no broken bones, I was led away to the back of the central enclosure along with the rest of the losers. We may have finished racing but we weren't to be freed. Not only were we all still dressed as pony boys but we were also all still attached to our respective sulkies and, to cap it all, the hobble was refitted. We couldn't talk, we couldn't walk, so we just hung around, lined up in a row, waiting. I was staring despondently at the floor when a voice beside me said "I lost quite a bit of money on you." I looked up and there was a guy standing there. Every inch of him, from the immaculate shine on his shoes, the razor sharp crease in his chinos, the silk shirt open to the third button and the jacket which was slung casually over his shoulder, spoke of style, lots of style. He was fit and strong but not in the same way as some of the gorillas that lurked around the place. He knew how to look after himself but he didn't earn his money doing so. "Hurts, doesn't it?" he said gently and he reached out and stroked the bruise in my side where I had collided with the barricade. I winced as his fingertips brushed the broken flesh but that was secondary to a very different tempest that was playing inside me. In any other circumstances I would have run a million miles should a man offer me such a caress but, broken and vulnerable as I was, this tenderness spoke to me and I felt my whole body respond. He was standing so close that I could smell the crisp clean linen scent of his clothes. I leant my head forward and laid it on his shoulder. His hand, his strong, capable hand, stroked my side. This wasn't a grope like all the others, this was the caress of a lover. I wanted him to gather me in, to hold me, to comfort me, to care fore me, to lo.... Was I really thinking that? The emotional roller-coaster was making my head spin. I was lost and confused, all alone in this warehouse full of crazy.