Foxfire Stables

I was silently fuming as Marina worked the kinks from my lower back. Her oil slick palms and roughly digging fingertips worked the tension out slowly. The room was scented a deeply, rich with lavender and dragons breath from the incense burner cradled on a low bench in front of the massage table. I expelled a short “ugh” as Marina continued deeply stroking my sore muscles. I had over exerted myself in the conditioning pens this afternoon, trying to work off some of my frustrations. I had taken both Garret and Leaper through their full regiment in the small cart pen built into the northern hayloft, and then had taken it upon myself to work several of the real horses down in the big indoor arena.

I had been left as sweaty and grimy as any of the ponies or horses, but no less incensed over the new arrival that had been brought in by the Stables van early that morning. I demanded a bath and rubdown, attended in the bath by several of the pony fillies and a gelding, and then the rubdown by Marina. Nothing yet had worked to relax me.

Rolling over and staring at my Marina’s pretty brown hair as it waved around her shoulders with her motions, I gestured at her to continue rubbing, and work on the fronts of my calves and thighs. The deep kneading massage began again, and I kept working the situation over in my mind. The newest trainee I had contracted to bring into my pony program had arrived and I was pissed over his Mistress’s deliberate deceptions about his condition and gendering. The contract had been for six months of intensive pony training, beginning with a completely novice pony but a supposedly well experienced submissive. We had agreed that he was to arrive in good health and condition. He was also contracted as a Colt who needed gelding. The fact of the matter was that I had a rank Stallion pony caged up in my pony pens! He was at least 50 or more pounds underweight, and looking about ready to scream and bolt or else start attacking people, anything rather then submit to whatever had been being done with him up until now. So much for safe, sane and consensual, this man looked like he hadn’t consented to anything in a very long time.

I blinked my eyes rapidly, realizing that Marina had begun massaging my tense inner thighs, and was working up higher towards the center. I shook my head firmly no, and she bypassed any erotic stimulation to continue the massage on my abdominal muscles and ribcage. I had no idea what I was going to do with the man in pen five. He was currently being watched over closely by Kit, the pony gelding who I had to help me care for the other ponies, and who ran the real equine stables. He had made sure that all of the equipment the new Stallion had come in with had been removed. The man had come in wearing nothing but a collar that didn’t expand far enough and had left small scars in his neck, a set of cuffs that had been on and not removed for at least a week, and a muzzle style gag that kept him from speaking. His Mistress had said he was an arrogant, hard to handle, easily startled Colt; something that was so resistant that she needed a firmer hand to break him. I had dealt with many cocky, arrogant or nervous male ponies, who had made delightful geldings or even a few who remained colts, with a higher sense of independence and greater number of needs and limits. A colt will do everything you say to please you, but they also need more of a reward, and more personal satisfaction, then just pleasing their Trainer. They have a more demanding sense of personal needs. A Stallion is even less of a submissive, and most in any normal BDSM relationship would be much more likely to identify themselves as switches.

I had no idea what this man might have been before he got in with his current Mistress, but I could guess: maybe a switch who never got to express that other side of his desires, maybe a casual player who was taken in deeper against his will, or even a submissive who’s limits had been consistently ignored and broken. Whichever, he was surely not looking for ways to submit anymore. He was working entirely on fight or flight instincts. I had no idea what was keeping him in line at current, why he continued to be very well behaved now that he was away from her.

I reached down and grasped both of Marina’s hands where they were busy massaging my shoulders and chest. I used her arms to pull myself into a sitting position.

“Fetch me the cordless phone from my office, and the gray address book in the second drawer.”

Watching her trim tight ass cheeks as she walked through the small massage parlor and into the small connecting office, I slipped down off of the table and wrapped the cozy, raggedy blue cotton robe tight around my body. The sexy satin robe was just not going to do the trick tonight. I settled into the deep, softly upholstered chair in the corner of the parlor and waited for Marina to return with the phone. I needed to make some calls to get this mess straightened out.

***

The bright cheerful June sunshine streaming into my master bedroom was an early alarm clock telling me there we chores to get done and ponies to play with. I smiled the same giddy smile I had had when I was seven and playing with plastic My Little Ponies I received for my birthday; the smile I had worn when I won my first top level award exhibiting a World class halter horse I had conditioned. It was the same smile I woke up with nearly every week since starting the pony stable that was housed in the haylofts of the old dairy barn on my property. The horses were all stabled in a new facility on the other side of my property, and the owners and guests there are only ever told that the old dairy barn is now housing my farmhands, and managers. The equine facility only holds six show horses at a time, plus my breeding stock, and the pony pens can accommodate ten occupants. I believed that being able to devote quality time to each pupil, horse or pony, was more important then how many the farm could house at once.

I stretched and snuggled into the blankets for a few seconds, loving the feel of the heavy comforter wrapped around me, made possible by the arctic blast of the central air all summer long. My smile and pleasant disposition began to rapidly evaporate as I woke up further and sighed as I remembered the fiasco that still awaited me in the pony pens this morning. I completed my personal morning rituals solo, not wanting to take my growing bad temper out on any well meaning fillies. I walked into the kitchen to find Marina starting breakfast, and gave her a smaller version of my generally glowing morning smile. I used the intercoms between the house and barns to locate Kit and tell him that he had control of the horses for the day, and then left instructions with Marina to bring breakfast out to the pony pens when it was done.

The grass was still damp as I walked across the well-beaten path, listening to the high-pitched whinnies and nickers from the horses as they called out to their grooms for grain and alfalfa. The smells of pine shavings, summer sun, and a lot of sweat and work seemed all around me, almost enough of a comfort to bring back my enthusiasm. I opened the sliding door of the old dairy barn, and let the morning sunlight stream in onto the bare dirt floor. The lower part of the barn was sectioned off into the ten small pony pens along the right hand side of the large center aisle, and a long wall with only a singular door to the left side. The door was currently closed and padlocked. The ten pony pens lined a smaller aisle way that ran directly across from the closed door. Five on either side, with small doors that slid, much like the horses stalls, with the same grill patterns across the tops of the doors and fronts. The metal bars would have looked like something from a prison, except for the personal momentos decorating the outside of each, and the happy faces smiling out between them as they called out a chorus of good mornings and whinny imitations. The inside of the stalls where bare except for a small single bed and a closet in one corner that housed a toilet and sink. The ponies spent all of their time when they were not being trained, conditioned, or working in their pens so they needed private facilities. Each was nude, and their clothing and harness equipment was kept in a trunk on the outside wall of their locked pen. Pens one through four housed a fairly seasoned group of geldings, all of them having been with me nine months or more. Across the aisle were the three fillies who had bathed me last night, all on training contracts from a Master in California who wanted to drive a matched team of three, reminiscent of a Russian trike. The newest filly, a terribly untrained thing was in stall nine, and looked panicked still just to be here, and finally in stall ten was a mare that had been sent over from another farm, and was remarkably well trained. She was here to begin to develop her capabilities as a handler, as her desire to be assertive and independent had finally begun to wear at her ability to be a good pony. I really respected her Mistress for not trying to keep her as a docile filly, but instead was letting her mature into a more competent and individualized mare here with me. The badly abused Stallion occupied the last stall, stall five.

He stood in a rigid, almost military stance along the front of the pen, eyes staring at nothing; tension, anger, and fear radiating off him in waves that made all of the other ponies nervous when my attention landed on him. They were all waiting for a major blow up of some sort. The skittish filly almost directly across from him was beginning to get that slightly teary, confused look to her eyes. I went to her quickly, taking my focus off of the Stallion long enough to tell her that she could go cover up on her bed and not watch. Whatever happened, I didn’t need her spooked out of her mind over it. I rang a bell at the end of the aisle way and as I waited for the remainder of my staff to arrive I spoke to the mare.

“Ruby, tell me what was for breakfast, and has everyone been brushed for the morning?”

My mornings may begin when the sun rises, but the stable boys were up before five making sure everyone was fed and groomed.

“Ma’am, the breakfast was bacon and cheese omelets, and hash brown potatoes for most of us. The new filly got an assortment of muffins and juices, and he had an extra helping of eggs and toast.” Ruby gestured with the length of her braid towards the Stallion in pen five, giving the deeply auburn hair an expert flick, a toss of the head so natural to a well trained pony I doubt she even thought about how it drew attention to her carefully combed red mane.

“Then we were all taken over to the showers and the groomers had us all cleaned up, except for him.” Again, that quick toss of a head in the direction of the new Stallion.

“Explain Ruby.” I frowned, wondering why Ivan and Eric had not gotten him into the showers or the grooming stall.

“He stated kicking and beating at Eric, so they left him in his pen to wait for you.” Ruby dropped her head, and ran her fingers nervously through the deep red tail that draped behind her from a deeply implanted butt plug Ivan had inserted this morning. Ruby had a terrible tendency to fuss with her tail.

I turned away from the mare with a curt thank you, and rang the bell again sharply. I stood before the Stallion’s stall and stared at him where he stood rigidly gazing into space. I heard footsteps on the stairway leading to the haylofts, and turned slightly so I could watch him, and see Ivan and Eric clomping down the steps. Eric was wrapping a thin ace bandage around the palm of his left hand, and had a huge mischievous grin on his deeply tanned face as he stomped towards me in his cowboy boots and jeans. Ivan just scowled behind him, dressed in field boots, breeches and a stiff collared hunt shirt.

“Sorry, Ma’am. I had to patch myself up before I came to help you wrestle with him some more.” He grinned at me and waved his bandaged hand in the air in a ridiculously exaggerated hello. “You’ve got a rank, spooked one there! He damn near chomped my fingers off when I tried to haul him out of the pen to get his grooming.”

I glanced back at the stallion, to see him still staring straight at nothing, but there was a fine shaking in his hands and shoulders. There was an edge of white around his eyes, like an animal trying to stand very still around a predator. I frowned, not knowing why he would be reacting so violently to the idea of being bathed and groomed.

“Unlock the pen, and let me go in with him. Both of you stay here, and intercom Marina to get over here as soon as possible.”

I bent down and used the trunk key clipped to my jeans belt loop to unlock the trunk in front of the Stallion’s pen. My frown just kept getting deeper, as I saw that there were no clothes in there for him, only more of the ragged leather equipment that matched the mess he had arrived in. I sighed and decided to answer the important questions before I started asking why he had brought no clothes. Reaching over and unlocking the closest gelding’s trunk, I took out the largest T-shirt I could find and a loose fitting pair of work out shorts.

I went into the pen after Ivan had unlocked it, and motioned to have him close it but not key it shut. The stallion stood, without moving, staring into the same bit of space. The trembling was all over his whole body by now, and the overhead lights of the pens glistened on the small river of sweat that was running down his back and the ragged edges of his black hair. I was distracted for just a moment by the small bumps made along his back by the ridges in his spine pushing against his skin. I squashed the anger that wanted to grow at the Mistress who had abused this man so much. I had taken care of her last night with a few phone calls to the right people in the lifestyle who would make sure she never had care over anyone again.

“Tell me why you didn’t let Ivan and Eric take you to the shower.” I firmly stated the question. He looked so stoic, but was shaking so badly I didn’t know if he was going to attack me too or break down and bawl.

“I don’t let men touch me.” His voice was rusty from not being used, and it was deep, with just the slightest hints of lingering panic. His voice had been curt, and there was no attempt at any formal address towards me.

I needed to get him at least marginally more comfortable before I was going to be able to have any sort of discussion with him about why he was here, since it was so obvious he couldn’t stand to play the games. Not only was he physically a wreck, but he acted emotionally broken. I decided to get him into some clothes and then I would try to get him into a more neutral spot, so that maybe he would gain some semblance of himself for me to deal with.

“Will you turn towards me, and take these clothes to put on. I think there are some things you and I need to discuss.” I held the clothes out towards him, calmly, like offering something to an animal you aren’t sure of, weather it will leap towards you and take your arm off, or run away screaming, never to be seen again.

His head whipped around and he looked dazed, like the request had been the last thing he had expected. He tentatively grabbed the clothes, and almost immediately covered himself with both hands clutching the fabric to his groin.

“You are not going to order them to take me, to punish me?”

I wasn’t surprised that he had expected discipline and force to get him to do things. I sighed, and thought how sad it was that there were people who hurt other people so badly, so carelessly.

“No, you aren’t going to be punished. We need to talk. I am going to have Ivan and Eric leave for a while, if you think you can let my assistant Marina take you up stairs. Nod if you are going to be able to do that, then get dressed.”

I watched him nod, several times, like he was reassuring himself that he could indeed get dressed and follow a woman upstairs without being drug, screaming and kicking. I gave him a small smile, which really seemed to blow his mind, and left the pen to go upstairs. I gave Ivan and Eric quick instructions to take the geldings over to the horse barn to start the stall cleaning, then rushed up the flight of wooden steps to the hayloft.

***

I tightened the final fastening on Sissy’s bridle, and gave a long loving stroke to his erection where it lay trapped against his abdomen by the cock restraint of his harness. My harnesses were specially designed to hold the male ponies’ penises tight to the bellies so it didn’t interfere while they were driving, and a cock ring at the base ensured that they kept their enthusiasm for the duration of their training. Sissy was one of the most splendid high-steppers I had had the pleasure of training.

Stepping into the small cart behind him, I gave a sharp crack of the leather reins against the outside of both of his naked hips. He pranced around the indoor ring of the old dairy barn with a festive jingle of bells and the occasional sharp crack of my driving whip. The northern section of the loft had been fixed up with a deep forest green carpet that allowed the ponies traction and comfort. The outdoor arena behind the dairy barn was where they conditioned in the heavy sand, and toughened their human feet into pony hooves against the pavement and small pee stones. Sissy’s ass cheeks flexed and he glistened with a delicate sweat along his upper body. He was only a few months away from going home to his Mistress, when we had hit a snag. Some trainers just come along and begin their pony training by ramming a long furry butt plug up the pony’s ass ad saying Voila! You have a tail! I was of a different school, that felt the trainees had to master the etiquette and art of becoming a true pony long before they needed a tail. All of my charges were rewarded for their efforts to be more and more pony like, to take on the mannerisms of the animal they were being trained to be. A great advantage was having the horses so close by. They all had daily contact with the animal basis for our delightful sexual play.

But with Sissy, he had taken horrible offence to the tail, when the time had come. He had spent five months learning the mannerisms, and he had excelled. All those months learning to pull a cart, and building the muscles to allow him to trot me around in my flashing surrey, and to pop his knees in an amazing display of agility. He was breathtaking. But the brat wouldn’t wear his tail. It ruined the final picture to say the least. I had been negotiating with his Mistress on a compromise, since it was technically her mistake in not telling me that Sissy had deemed any anal play a hard and fast limit to what he would do. She had thought that as a “horse breaker” I would just get away with forcing it on him. There a lot of people who feel that just because I work with animal play that I am somehow not as constrained by normal rules of play. I threatened to break the contract with her, but we negotiated a settlement that allowed me another month to try and convince Sissy that the tail was not so terrible. If I wasn’t successful she would just have to be satisfied with a mock tail worn on a belt around his waist.

I pulled back firmly on the reins attached to the solid metal bit in Sissy’s mouth, urging him to gradually slow, and then halt.

“Whoa, Sissy.” I looped the reins around the front of the cart, and stepped out and came along his side to stroke and pet him, back and front. My left hand grasped his penis firmly, and I stroked the thumb in a circle along the head, slowly spreading the precum all around the glans and down the shaft a bit.

“Very good boy Sissy. You looked marvelous. Did you enjoy your workout?”